Our Hero, Captain Steven
by Sabari
Summary: In the medieval kingdom of Freedonia, young knight Steven Westmoreland struggles to protect the kingdom from dire threats while at the same time fulfilling his duties as knight, duties which often seem to be as unreasonable as they are absurd.
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1 – A Knight's Duty**

 _"If we wait until we're ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives."_  
 ** _-Lemony Snicket (The Ersatz Elevator)_**

* * *

The tiny kingdom of Freedonia, under the benevolent rule of one Lord Spaulding the Great, was best known for its tavern, wherein drinks were served at all times of day or night, rousing music was played at three AM, and the dawn was continually rung in by a reciting of an epic poem written by the bard that owned the place. Without exception, anyone in the tavern could find themselves unexpectedly employed at any time as a stage actor, performing a script they'd never read before. In fact, until the market was built, the tavern had been the main form of employment for most of the peasants of Freedonia, and it continued to be the main form of recreation for the royal guards.

As the kingdom grew, so did its problems, not the least of which was that lawlessness swept the country like a plague, and the plague swept the country like lawlessness. Brawling was rampant, especially whenever visitors from Tredony and Aarbyville happened to see each other.

In his infinite wisdom, Lord Spaulding decreed that the kingdom needed a knight to manage all of this, and also to get the guards to stop spending all their time in the tavern listening to Minstrel Rhianwen sing, and -if only occasionally- do their actual job of guarding and border patrol.

And so enters our hero, a generically handsome dark-eyed peasant man with reddish brown hair. Steven Westmoreland, a life-long resident of Freedonia, had watched in some dismay as his beloved country went to pot and was understandably excited to receive a letter delivered via pigeon to the effect that he was being promoted from "gutter trash" (a phrase adopted from a country which had gutters), to "knight." He was somewhat perplexed by the promotion, however. Though Steven was young, able-bodied and decent with a sword, it seemed like a guard ought to have been promoted into the position, rather than some nobody the monarch couldn't possibly know anything about.

Dutifully, however, he picked up his sword (such as it was), shouldered his armor (such as it was), and moved into the newly built castle tower that was the knight's home (such as it was). The barracks was a lot smaller than it looked on the outside. Additionally, despite the fact that it was connected to the rest of the castle, there was no door or hallway leading from Sir Steven's new abode to the rest of the castle.

Seeing no reason to stop at the barracks, the builders had simply gone on wall building until they ran out of material, shortly before they should have been designing the quarters of the spy. Without quarters, the spy refused to do any work or even show herself at all. Possibly the materials would have been better spent on a spy tower, but you couldn't tell builders anything, they built how they liked.

Though he hadn't been explicitly told to in the letter, it seemed prudent to the newly appointed Sir Steven that he actually meet the monarch he served.

Up to now, Steven had never actually seen much of Lord Spaulding. He'd heard something about a war and Freedonia's possible future involvement, and certainly he had seen the brawling between the Aarbyville pirates and Tredony nobles whenever they chanced to visit, but he didn't spend a great deal of time near the castle, the docks, the Judgment Zone or even the forest, which tended to be the scenes of most of the conflicts. There was a rumor that the monarch's gyrfalcon was routinely sicced on Aarbyville emissaries, but it was concluded by all that this was simply a matter of duty, and not preference. Even the pirates themselves did not seem as offended as they might have.

Lord Spaulding was known for his fondness of cabbage, such that he would provide ample funding each year to the farmers of this type of produce to ensure that there was plenty of cabbage for everyone. Minstrel Rhianwen had written many comedic plays on this particular subject, as well as a number of quite lengthy poems which referred, directly or indirectly, to cabbage. Jokes about the King's Cabbage were often quietly whispered in darkened corners. As previously mentioned, the options for entertainment in Freedonia were somewhat limited.

The only other thing that was widely known about Lord Spaulding the Great was that he was in search of a suitable partner who would provide him with an heir, which had been made public knowledge when Lord Spaulding wrote and published a Declaration of Intent.

When he arrived at the throne room, Steven was rather surprised to find it rather cheaply furnished, and actually quite bare looking in many spots. Plain gray stone showed on the walls which would more typically be adorned with flags and tapestries, and the floor where normally fancy rugs would lie was likewise bare and gray. The throne itself looked a little bit like it had been made out of twigs. The most ornate things in the room were a couple of bird perches on either side of the throne, one for the Lord's colorful sunset macaw and the other for his majestic white gyrfalcon.

As a former peasant, Steven knew that money was in short supply to commoners, but it had been his impression that Lord Spaulding must have a lot of money, since he kept giving it to various parties in exchange for promises to build statues of him. Statues which, Steven had noticed, never seemed to be built.

Lord Spaulding himself was a surpassingly ragged looking individual. Thin and pale, with ferociously wild black hair and eyebrows, and an impressively prominent mustache, he did not especially look as though he were a force to be reckoned with, despite all that fancy clothing expensively tailored could do to improve his looks. He had facial features not unlike those of his falcon, and brown eyes of a rather muddy shade. For all that, he sat on his throne of twigs in a manner that inexplicably conveyed the fact that he was thoroughly impressed with himself, which Steven supposed befit a man of royalty.

"You're not here asking for money, are you?" Lord Spaulding asked suspiciously.

"No, My Lord," Steven replied politely, "I am Steven Westmoreland," when the name didn't seem to ring a bell, he clarified, "You just hired me on as knight."

"Ah, yes," Lord Spaulding said with a nod, doing a creditable job of pretending to be suddenly remembering this, "And I suppose you're wondering why this castle needs a knight."

"Because the kingdom is growing and is in need of more protection, leading to increased duties that are too much for any one man?" Steven guessed.

Lord Spaulding scoffed at this, saying, "No, it's because I hate manual labor."

"I would be more than happy to take on any duties you see fit to assign me, My Lord," Steven said, doing his best to hide his surprise.

"Great," Lord Spaulding said, "Now go out and catch me a bear."

"My Lord?" Steven queried.

"You heard me," Lord Spaulding assured him, "There's a Great Bear out there that needs killing, and I'm sending you to do it, because quite frankly I can't be bothered."

"A Great Bear?" Steven asked.

Great Bear was a term applied to any overly large or aggressive bear that took to regularly attacking villagers when they were out strolling in the forest. Not as impressive to look at as a Grimbear (Grim being a prefix applied to any beast worthy of mounting), but much more dangerous. Or so Steven had heard anyway.

As a first assignment, it seemed like a tall order, much taller than the other task of the day, which was paying his taxes. In fact, heretofore, Great Bears had always been hunted by the Lord himself. Having now met Lord Spaulding, Steven had to wonder just how the spindly, sickly looking little man could possibly have managed it.

Considering this, Steven gained a bit of confidence that he would be able to do it, as well as new admiration for his Lord, for surely it was a much greater feat to kill a bear when you were small and weak than it was when you were as strong and sturdily built as Steven was.

Still, the idea of catching a bear of any sort, much less a Great Bear, made Steven rather nervous. He'd never really gone out hunting before, and certainly not by himself. But with his Lord he would not essay to argue.

Thus there was nothing for it but to don his armor, sharpen his sword, and head out into the forest in search of a bear.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky, and the day cheerily bright. Parrots and falcons flew through the sky on missions from their masters, hunting for trinkets or rabbits. The river that ran through Freedonia burbled merrily to itself, silvery fish flicking beneath its shimmering surface. The grass was green, the wildflowers perpetually in bloom. In all, Freedonia had never looked more beautiful or peaceful to Steven.

But the moment he entered the forest, it became unnervingly dark. The trees seemed to close in at once, and their interlacing branches shut out the sunlight. No birds flew here. The chuckling of the part of the river that flowed through the forest seemed suddenly ominous and mocking. Shadows seemed to leap out of the bushes and stalk him, and he found he could not fathom who would come here for recreation or why. Mystical sounding whispers came through the trees, and Steven was reminded that there were said to be unicorns and pixies out here... though really it was the thought of meeting a dire chinchilla (the most hideously vicious animal imaginable, according to the legends) that truly worried him. Though he didn't especially want to be trampled by elves or attacked by a grimbeast either.

The deeper into the forest Steven went, the more still it became, until he could no longer hear any of the familiar sounds he associated with his home. Even the river was quiet this deep in, reduced to a shushing little stream. A sudden rustling overhead proved to be a squirrel, which bolted at sight of him. The stillness and silence resumed, feeling like a warning to Steven to turn back.

As Steven continued onward, following the ill-traveled path deeper into the forest, it occurred to him that this would be an excellent place for a bandit to plan an ambush. No sooner had he thought this than a woman in black dropped down on him from the trees. Startled, Steven fumbled for his sword, giving the bandit enough time to dart in and make a grab for his moneybag. Steven struck at her, but she ducked, slipping around behind him, laughing. His sword now drawn, Steven whirled to face the bandit, but she had already moved away from him. She paused and held up a couple of simoles between her fingers. Then, blowing him a kiss, she turned and ran off through the trees.

Angry at the loss of money as much as embarrassed at having let down his guard, Steven left the path and chased after the fleeing figure. She was much faster than he, and apparently knew the forest well, for Steven shortly found himself in a clearing, standing ankle deep in dead leaves, looking around but seeing no sign at all of his assailant.

For a moment, Steven stood still, berating himself for leaving the path to chase a bandit. He should have known better. He should also have kept a closer watch on his money. He supposed he could count the stolen simoles as an object lesson. Shaking his head, Steven started to go back the way he'd come. But he didn't get very far.

Without warning, there came a mighty roar, and something charged at him from out of the bushes. Steven didn't have time to be afraid, nor even to consider what it was that was leaping for him, he simply held up his sword and watched in some awe as a massive shadow flung itself at him, then neatly skewered itself on his sword. It proved to be a bear. Specifically, a great one.

The Great Bear was considerably less "great" than expected, for it fell dead almost at once. It was a lot thinner than Steven would have expected any bear to be, and it yielded only a few pieces of edible meat, the rest was waste. In fact, the bear looked as if it might actually have been starving, which might have explained its ferocity towards villagers. Yet it was not an aged or sickly looking creature either. Steven was deeply puzzled by this.

Briefly, it flashed through his mind that he should be grateful to the bandit. If not for her, he should not have had his sword drawn, and the bear's attack might have ended quite differently. On the other hand, if he hadn't chased her, he would not have wound up in the bear's path. Since he'd been sent to kill the bear, he couldn't tell if he should be grateful the bandit had led him almost straight to it, or enraged that she had almost fed him to it.

Before he could begin to formulate any real theories, he heard a melodic voice humming an eery tune through the trees. It was a woman's voice, but not like any Steven had heard before.

Curious, he left the clearing where he had slain the bear, and moved into a still deeper and darker section of the forest, following the sound of song. Something in the sound of the voice disconcerted him, and bade him creep stealthily forward.

It was well that he did, for he came upon a glen in which a woman seemed to be piling a great number of bodies, most of which appeared to have been mauled by a bear. The woman was deathly pale white, with fire red hair, blood-red eyes and similarly colored lips, but there was something else about her, something... evil.

This was a creature of fire and darkness, not human at all, but a witch.

Steven was immediately aware of the unnatural state of the bodies, aside from the fact that they were dead. By instinct more than knowledge (the latter of which being in rather short supply in Freedonia), he recognized the beginning foundation of a Witch's Hut, which were always laid atop a floor of bodies.

In a flash of insight, he understood that The Great Bear had fallen under a witch's spell, and that had been why it had been attacking people. Rather than eating them, it was bringing them to the witch. So busy with this magically imposed task had it been that it had neglected to eat.

Sick with revulsion and fear, Steven crept back the way he'd come, knowing that this must at once be reported. He knew he had found something far more terrible than any chinchilla.

A witch -quite different from a sorceress- was a destroyer. He had heard plenty of stories from travelers speaking of dead kingdoms that had been the victims of witches. Left unchecked, this witch would destroy the kingdom as a means of increasing her own power. She would begin by building the hut, and then later would start kidnapping children. By the time she was finished, she would be draining the life power of everyone in the kingdom!

Freedonia was in dire peril! Lord Spaulding must be informed!

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: This story is completely written. I will be uploading one chapter per day. This was written for my entertainment, and is being published for yours. If you find yourself not enjoying it, then you should feel perfectly free to stop reading._**

 _ **Special thanks (or blame) for this goes to the friend and sister-in-law who got me into Sims (first 2 and then 3 and finally Medieval) in the first place, and Jack Trader, my wholly unexpected and surprisingly enthusiastic Beta reader.  
**_

 _ **Nobody panic, everything is fine. I merely have no idea what I'm doing. I hope you enjoy whatever this has turned out to be.**_


	2. Chapter 2

On his way back to the throne room, Steven stopped off to pay his taxes. When he reached the throne room, he was informed that the monarch was in the middle of a royal bath, and could not be disturbed. Since he had already completed the day's tasks, Steven decided to inquire how else he might be of service, at which point he was informed that The Beast needed to be fed.

The Pit Beast was feared by all, and justly so, for it was the Devourer of the Incredibly Wicked, Consumer of the Excessively Lawless, Gulper of the Unspeakably Useless, and All Around Eater of Anyone Lord Spaulding Decided to do Away With.

Town criers were frequently thrown into The Pit for being too noisy at too early an hour, yet this did not seem to at all discourage them from doing both of these things, leading some to suspect that town criers actually craved death.

Steven had ever avoided the Judgment Zone. He was uncomfortable with the stocks and The Pit itself, but more than anything he was appalled by the way his fellow villagers invariably acted, eagerly throwing perfectly good eggs and tomatoes at whoever happened to be locked up for whatever reason, and gleesomely celebrating the demise of anyone unfortunate enough to be cast into The Pit.

But now, at the indirect behest of his monarch, it was there that he went, with much reluctance. Considering what he had just witnessed in the forest, he was mightily relieved not to have to go hunting in the forest for food. On the other hand, he was unhappy to be losing one of his two sizable chunks of bear meat as he was most definitely looking forward to having something besides gruel for dinner.

One of the perks of being a knight was that he was permitted to go hunting in the forest now, rather than having to buy his meat from the village. In fact, it would be among his duties to hunt semi-regularly from now on, and many peasants and commoners would be depending on his haul for their food. Making sure the people had food was a lot of responsibility, but far less intimidating to him than the witch in the forest, or The Beast in The Pit.

Preferring to lose his bear meat rather than take chances with his life with the witch in the forest or Lord Spaulding's wrath by failing to fulfill all tasks he was given, Steven summoned all of his courage to step out onto the plank hanging over the blackened abyss in which dwelled The Beast.

Shaking slightly, he held the hunk of meat out as far as he could, trying not to smell the foul and nauseating stench of The Pit as he did so, and hoping he didn't look too delicious. He then involuntarily dropped the meat as a hideous rumble and a soul-shattering roar foretold the arrival of The Beast, which slewed out of The Pit, snatching the meat in its maw, before thrashing around a bit, and then snapping back into the dark with a noisy belch.

Later on, Steven would remember its unusually constructed mouth, and its bright blue coloration, but in the moment he knew only sheer terror at sight of the creature, and then a profound relief that it had taken the offering of meat in place of a human victim.

A few bystanders applauded, so Steven took a bow. As he did so, he noticed that Lord Spaulding was actually out in the town square, speaking to a pale woman with red hair. Steven thought she appeared vaguely familiar, but because of the distance he was not at first certain where he had seen her. He decided not to interrupt, and instead made his way back to the Throne Room to await the return of Lord Spaulding.

While he was waiting, it struck him that the woman in the square looked an awful lot like the witch in the forest! It had been dark in there, and the horror of the moment had distracted him, but now he'd hit on it, he was more than certain it was the same woman.

Little more than an hour later, Lord Spaulding had returned, though he seemed preoccupied, and did not notice Steven waiting for him.

"My Lord," Steven spoke as Lord Spaulding made as if to leave again.

"Yes, what is it?" Lord Spaulding asked impatiently, "I'm rather busy now, got to choose a woman to be the mother of my child, you know."

"I'm sure that's a difficult choice to make, My Lord," Steven said, "But I have seen something in the forest that might perhaps be a bit more important."

"What could possibly be more important than furnishing the kingdom with an heir, and my bed with a woman?" Lord Spaulding wanted to know.

"Sire, there is a witch in the kingdom. I saw her in the forest today, and you were talking to her in town," Steven answered.

"Nonsense," Lord Spaulding declared, "How could she have been in the forest if she was in town?"

Astonished at the way this conversation was going, and the overwhelming lack of concern being exuded by His Majesty at the announcement of a witch in the forest, Steven fumbled for words.

"I saw her earlier," Steven explained, "You were talking with her later."

"Then how could you be sure it was the same woman?" Lord Spaulding asked.

This was a question Steven had been unprepared to answer. The suggestion that a different locale made it impossible to be sure you'd seen someone before was, he felt, a ridiculous one. And yet... and yet, he did not wish to argue with his monarch.

"She had the same red hair, and-"

"Red hair doesn't make one a witch," Lord Spaulding interrupted, "Why, you have red hair and I haven't accused you of being a witch lately, have I?"

"My hair is brown, My Lord," Steven protested gently.

"Not if I say it's red, it isn't," Lord Spaulding replied reasonably, "And anyway, she can't be a witch. In fact, I just might make her my wife."

"Sire!" Steven yelped in horror, unable to stop himself.

"Oh go bother one of the guards," Lord Spaulding said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I need to go test which of my potential wives is the most amusing by having her tell me a joke."

Steven, open mouthed and speechless, watched Lord Spaulding stalk out of the castle and down the hill to the town square. He wasn't sure which was more incomprehensible, that Lord Spaulding didn't seem concerned about a witch, or that he thought skill at joke telling was the most important ability to measure in a potential mate.

* * *

"The only witch I've seen must've been Minstrel Rhianwen, because she's put a spell on my heart!" declared a guard by the name of Rupert, "I think I'm in love!"

"Yes, it seems that everyone is," Steven mused, then persisted, "What if I describe her to you? Do you think you could remember if I told you what she looked like?"

"The only woman I remember is my Rhianwen," sighed Rupert, at which point he began to sing, "I love Rhianwen with the deep black hair. Carried like fog through the-" he broke off suddenly, "No, that doesn't sound very good, does it?"

"Perhaps you had best leave the song writing to the Bard, and concern yourself with the safety of the kingdom... Rupert!" Steven scolded, for Rupert's attention was straying towards a bowl of pigeon soup that someone had left unguarded at a nearby table, "There is a _witch_ within our borders! Doesn't that concern you at all?"

"Hmm?" Rupert roused himself from his daydreaming of Rhianwen and also his desire for a mid-afternoon snack, "What concerns me?"

Steven had known Rupert for some time. Back when they'd met, they had been just a couple of useless drunks in the tavern. Several drunken brawls later, they had become friends watching a beautiful young lady with talent but no skill attempt to belt out show stopping numbers. Rupert had seemed mightily sane then, and even successful when he'd finally been hired on as a guard. And of course no one could fault him for his infatuation with the beautiful and charming Minstrel Rhianwen.

But the knight was in charge of the guards, their supervisor, manager and trainer. If the guards screwed up, Sir Steven would be held responsible for it. Quite suddenly, Rupert's lovesick puppy act, his eye that wandered constantly in search of his next meal, and his tendency towards drunkenness were not so endearing nor even vaguely tolerable, even if drinking _was_ his excuse to frequently visit the tavern, which was the abode of his lady love.

"Pay attention!" Steven commanded, but Rupert did not seem ready to respect this, so he tried pleading, "Rupert, please."

"Oh alright," Rupert groaned, as if he'd been asked to undertake something truly arduous, rather than merely answering the question, "Describe her to me."

"She's very pale," Steven began.

"That's nothing. So is Lord Spaulding," Rupert replied.

"Stop interrupting!" Steven snapped, his patience by now worn almost razor thin.

He could not argue with his monarch, who must always have the final word, but the flippancy of the royal guards, Sir Steven realized suddenly, was something he not only did not have to take, but which he would be well-advised to put a stop to, if they were ever going to take his leadership seriously. And they must do that, because otherwise Steven could not adequately perform his duties as knight and keep the kingdom safe from harm.

He continued where he'd left off, "She has red hair."

"So do you," Rupert ventured.

"I do not!" Steven had had about all he could take, "Now, either I finish my description, or I thrash you all across the floor of this tavern!"

This made Rupert sit up and take notice. The stocky, blue-eyed blond was no slouch in a fight, but he and Steven had certainly brawled and sparred enough times over the years for them to know just which of them the victor would be. The possibility of being shamefully beaten right in front of the lovely lady for whom he pined was too horrific for contemplation.

"Red hair, you say?" Rupert queried in contrite tone.

"Yes," Steven said, satisfied that he at last had seized Rupert's attention for good this time, "And red eyes, and red lips too. And her dress... well, it was kind of... dark leather, I think, and with swirls of red. High collar too, and a spear-like head adornment of some kind."

He cringed inwardly, expecting some kind of remark, such as, 'What? Like a unicorn?'

But instead, Rupert looked vaguely thoughtful, and nodded, seemingly almost to himself, "Yes, I do remember seeing someone like that in the town square. But surely you must also have seen her? You were out feeding The Beast at the time. I remember because Minstrel Rhianwen was providing a dramatic background accompaniment on her lute."

Steven blinked in surprise. Was that true? He had not paid attention at the time. He wondered if the applause had been for Minstrel Rhianwen's engaging tune, rather than his own daring feat. That thought was a bit of a blow to his pride, but it did seem the most likely scenario.

"Anyway, why ask if you already know the answer?" Rupert persisted.

"I..." Steven struggled for an answer, and found one, "Lord Spaulding told me to ask guards if they had also seen the witch. He... he doubted the voracity of my statement."

"Well," Rupert said with a shrug, "He _did_ hire you sight unseen. You've got to expect him to doubt you a little. He doesn't know you."

"I suppose that's true," Steven agreed, unwilling to rehash the complete illogic he'd been faced with in trying to convince his Lord of the threat, "And he is considering marrying her after all, so I suppose it would feel awkward to court her while believing she's a witch."

"I imagine it would," Rupert replied, but it was clear he felt his part in the matter was concluded and he had no further interest, as he continued, "Do you think Minstrel Rhianwen would notice me if I were a better fighter?"

Steven didn't think Minstrel Rhianwen would notice Rupert if his hair were on fire. But that's not what he said. No reason to demoralize the man by crushing his fantasy.

"I suppose I could teach you a few new moves and we could see," Steven said, then considered the complaint manifesting in his empty stomach, "But not right now. Perhaps tomorrow, when I have more time."

"Sounds good," Rupert said absently, as he slid down the bar to snatch up a bowl of onion soup someone left untended.

"And try doing your job sometime," Steven called after him, "Work can be very rewarding, you know."

Shaking his head in bemusement, Steven got up and headed home. It was a long upward climb to get back to the tower where he lived, but Steven didn't mind. The uphill climb only reminded him of how far he'd come just to get where he was, and how far he still had to go to make Freedonia a safe place to live and raise families such as everyone from the lowliest guard, like Rupert, to the monarch, Lord Spaulding himself, wanted to.

But when he reached home, a nasty surprise lay in store: The witch had discovered his awareness of her, found where he lived, and now stood waiting for him in his own home.

"What are you doing here?" Steven demanded of the witch.

"Waiting for you," the witch replied sweetly, "Because it is clear to me that you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot."

"Which foot would that be?" Steven asked, "The one where I saw you arranging bodies for some sort of evil ritual?"

"Dear, Sir Knight," the witch spoke the title laughingly, "You misunderstand. That was no evil ritual. That was merely me laying the foundation for my hut in the woods."

"That's not better," Steven pointed out.

"Look," she snapped, losing any pretense of friendliness and putting a delicate hand on her hip, "A witch has got to eat, just like everybody else. But at least I don't go around murdering innocent creatures and tearing harmless plants out of the ground to get my meals. At least _I_ confine the suffering to humans, who can hardly be considered innocent or harmless."

Appalled as he was by the witch's declaration, Steven couldn't quite shake off the idea that there was sense to the argument. He shook himself angrily, realizing the witch had been trying to work some sort of mind manipulation on him with her words. Her eyes narrowed angrily when she saw it was not working, and that this knight would not be swayed so easily as others.

"Like it or not," the witch spat, her expression ugly, "I, Witch Celeste, am going to build my hut in the forest, into which I shall begin luring children, and I shall also be marrying Freedonia's monarch, further securing my position. In the end, your kingdom will fall prey to my desires, and there is nothing _you_ , a mere knight, can do to stop it."

"We'll see about that," Steven countered gamely.

Though she had seemed by far the most terrifying thing he had ever dreamed of when he'd encountered her only that morning, Steven's fear of the witch was tempered by recent contact with something far more terrible, The Pit Beast. The Witch Celeste's power paled in comparison with that of The Beast, and Steven knew it. He had fed The Beast with his own two hands not more than a few hours ago, and it seemed as if fighting a witch could not possibly be any more difficult. It was an irrational feeling, but Steven clung to it, for fear his courage should crumble if he did not.

"Yes..." purred the Witch Celeste, her blood-red eyes narrowing, "... we _shall_."

With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the barracks, calling something about receiving a "Royal Embrace" from His Majesty, Lord Spaulding the Great, leaving Steven to glare after her in helpless rage. After all, they both knew he could not simply kill her here in the castle. Not without being sent to The Pit for slaying one of his Lord's potential lovers. For the moment, he had no choice but to bide his time. To that end, he decided to fix some dinner. Perhaps a nice steaming bowl of hot bear soup would help take the edge off his nerves.

It didn't really, but it sure tasted better than gruel anyway.

After dinner, Steven spent an hour idly sharpening his sword. He didn't know why he was doing that, since it had already been sharpened before he went out into the forest that morning. But it seemed like the thing to do, and he couldn't think of a good reason not to. Then, for much the same reason, he stalked out to the training yard, and spent some time whacking the most offensive looking training dummy in the yard with his freshly sharpened sword, giving vent to the day's frustrations.

Then, considering how late it was, he decided that he should go home and sleep for the night.

Unfortunately, sleeping proved to be something easier said than done. Steven spent a restless night, tossing and turning, questioning how he could have handled the day's events more effectively, and wondering what he should -or even _could_ \- do next.


	3. Chapter 3

At around three in the morning, he woke almost as much from ancient habit as anything. In days past Steven and Rupert had regularly gone to the tavern at this time to listen to a song performed on stage by Minstrel Rhianwen in the tavern. It was a difficult habit to break, as Steven was accustomed to being shaken rudely into wakefulness, or else having a bucket of water (or worse) poured over his head by Rupert, who insisted in those days that he could not go without a wing-man

Those days were gone now. For one, Steven had better things to do than follow his friends into the tavern. For another, Rupert had recently declared Steven much too good looking for a wing-man, asserting that the reason the lovely Rhianwen never favored him with a glance was because she was distracted by his too-handsome companion, Steven. The exclusion suited Steven fine, but it didn't improve his sleep pattern any.

Weary and bleary eyed but unable to return to sleep, Steven stumbled out of bed. For lack of anything better to do, he decided to wander out and see what might be going on in the rest of the castle.

Surprisingly, the Throne Room and its adjoining rooms were active even at this strange hour.

The Royal Adviser and the Build Master were of course around, and seemed deeply absorbed in discussions of military strategy. There were guards around, though they were doing less guarding and more playing cards, reading, and periodically applauding some especially clever battle maneuver suggested by the Royal Adviser.

Steven found himself particularly drawn towards a guard named Rhona, who was seated in the throne room, reading aloud to Lord Spaulding's Sunset Macaw, Birbsy. Birbsy offered a chirping commentary that did not seem terribly related to the book Rhona was reading to him.

"Have you no duties to attend to?" Steven inquired of Rhona.

Snapping to attention at his words and laying aside her book, Rhona stammered, "N-no, Sir Steven. Y-you see... well... um... I'm one of the women Lord Spaulding is considering for his wife. Until he has made his decision, I have orders to make myself available at any time of day or night, and... well... it... uh... it seemed like..." she trailed off, blushing.

Steven's eyebrows had climbed as she babbled, but he made them come back down as he spoke in a voice of understanding, "I see. What better place to await the monarch's decision than his Throne Room? And what better way to curry favor than to entertain one of the royal flock?"

Rhona nodded, "Exactly, Sir Steven," then she paled, "Oh, but I don't mean to misuse my position in order to gain advantage. It's just that... that..."

"You feel you should press every advantage to get what you want," Steven replied, adding thoughtfully, "And you do... _want_ to marry His Majesty, don't you?"

"I-I... I guess I do," Rhona admitted, "At first, I'll admit, I wasn't terribly interested. I feel awful about that. I mean, after all he _is_ our monarch. But... well... he lives as if in poverty. But... he's so kind, and gentle. And he's got a wonderful sense of humor. And... well... now I know where he puts his money," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "You see... all of us potential wives... we've seen his bedroom. And the bed he has... oh it's just to _die_ for!"

This was a great deal more than Steven wanted to know. However, he realized that the guard Rhona might just be able to provide him with some help concerning the witch. If she could woo Lord Spaulding, perhaps His Majesty would be more open to considering that Celeste was truly a witch. Moreover, Rhona might be able to provide a distraction for Lord Spaulding. If so, then perhaps Steven might be able to lure the witch out into the forest, and put a stop to her evil... maybe, just maybe...

"Well, carry on then," Steven said approvingly, "I'm sure you'd make Lord Spaulding a wonderful wife," he hurriedly added, "If that's really what you want."

"Oh," Rhona exclaimed, surprised and delighted that her boss was not going to rebuke her for shirking her duties in order to curry favor with His Majesty, "Oh it is! It is! Thank you, Sir Steven!"

 _No, Rhona,_ Steven thought to himself, _Thank you._

The question of how to lure a witch into a forest was not one Steven had ever found himself trying to contemplate. However, nobody else seemed to realize the witch was a threat, or if they did they couldn't be bothered to deal with her themselves. Steven was the knight of the realm, quite literally, and that made it his duty to try and rid the kingdom of this threat... or else die trying. It was a duty he had understood from the start, though he had not expected the true test of his dedication to Freedonia to come so soon.

His first thought was to talk with her and try to convince her that he was interested in some kind of apprenticeship, or that he knew where some rare herbs were in the forest. His second thought, because he wanted to go hunting before he got peckish again, was to strike up a conversation about food and ask her to bring her best soup recipe to him, pretending that he had guard duty at the forest entrance or something. But the obviously fatal flaw in all of those plans was that she didn't like him, and knew that he didn't like her. There was no way that she would buy that he was trying to be nice to her. Not unless she was foolish, which Steven didn't think she was.

After chewing the problem over for a couple of hours, Steven found he was able to go back to sleep.

* * *

Steven woke up late, and realized he had to lay the witch problem aside for the moment as he had certain duties to perform. Witch or no witch, the duties of the knight could not go undone.

The day's orders, written in the hand of Lord Spaulding, informed him that Royal Adviser Greta was looking for someone to practice military strategy with (though it was really more like practicing it ON someone, for she seemed to take fiendish delight in treating the other party like an opponent in a game and gleefully smiting them). Her usual partner in this was Build Master Krispin, but it seemed that a Kingball Court was under construction and required the Build Master's supervision today, leaving the Royal Adviser short a victim... er, strategizing partner.

The second order of the day was to deal with an Aarbyville pirate who had been singing particularly noisily on the beach at night. Lord Spaulding had warned him to cease and desist, but the singing had continued unabated. Lord Spaulding declared himself too busy with writing a love letter to the woman of his choice to take time out to sic Firefly the Falcon on the pirate, so he was delegating the task to Sir Steven. Since Steven did not have a falcon, he was being asked to have a brawl with the pirate to hopefully set the man straight.

It seemed to Steven that these tasks were trivial at best, but he knew there was a stiff penalty in the kingdom for not getting things done in a timely manner. Even the monarch subjected himself to this stringent, No-Excessive-Shirking policy. Or perhaps it was the will of the Watcher. Steven wasn't particularly religious, though he did respect the imposing aspect of the newly constructed Jacoban Church. In any case, anyone caught excessively shirking (as defined in The Unwritten Laws to which everyone was subject) was put in the stocks, or possibly even The Pit, depending on how lenient whoever had instituted the policy was feeling that day.

Since he was already in the castle, Steven decided to see if Royal Adviser Greta was available. The Royal Adviser was a tall, angular woman with sharp features and sharper tongue. Her long gray hair was relentlessly straight, and her every physical move was one of stiff formality.

The moment Steven entered the throne room, Greta stuck her head through the door to the right that entered into the study and hissed, "Sir Steven! Get in here!"

Feeling vaguely threatened by her tone, Steven nonetheless obeyed the command.

"What do you know about Advorton?" Greta demanded.

"Well, I-" Before Steven had fairly opened his mouth to answer the question, she interrupted.

"Never mind that!" Greta exclaimed, "We'll probably just annex them by poisoning their champion or something."

This seemed unjust to Steven, but moreover it sounded exceedingly unlikely, being as the kingdom's spy -the only one in the kingdom with useful knowledge of poisons- had fiercely announced that she would not come out of the bushes until she was paid a fair wage and given adequate living quarters. Since no one could find her, no one could force her to cooperate without first meeting her demands.

"Tredony? Do you like it?" Greta inquired snappishly.

"I-" he didn't get to finish.

"Never mind! They're full of worthless gems anyway," Greta continued, her next series of questions rapidly fired as if they were a single sentence, "What about Aarbyville? What about Effenmont? What about boiling an egg in oil and putting that in wine?"

Steven found himself unprepared to answer _any_ of them.

Fortunately, he didn't have to, for Greta interrupted before he could think of anything for her to interrupt, "Never mind! Get out your model horses, we're playing Risk!"

Half convinced she would shout 'never mind' before he should retrieve the models that were used for visual reference on the strategy table during military discussions, Steven was moderately surprised that he was able to set up both sets of models before Greta spoke again.

"You are the dark pieces, representing puny and repulsive invading forces," she explained, "I will maneuver the light pieces, which represent our own magnificent and unconquerable nation."

"Alright," Steven said, agreeably going to the side of the table where the dark pieces were arranged, "Now what?"

He'd never actually looked at a strategy table and he had no idea what he was meant to do with the pieces he'd put on it. He wasn't even sure what all the various models meant, and he wasn't at all clear on how to read a map either, because he'd never seen one up close.

"Well, since it's before noon, the invading forces will be trying to come in from the mountains," Greta said, though she made no attempt to clarify which of the squiggly lines and colors on the map represented mountains, leaving Steven to guess.

"Forgive my ignorance," Steven said cautiously, "But which territories lie in that direction?"

"Oh, probably Yacothia or something," Greta replied with an airy wave of her hand, "It doesn't matter. What matters is making sure they do not breach the castle wall."

Steven figured that made sense for reasons he didn't yet comprehend.

"Now," Greta said, "Put your horses in the ocean and we'll get started."

Steven blinked, "I thought you said the invading forces were coming from the mountains?"

"You can't take horses over the mountains!" Greta objected, "That's what elephants are for!"

"But you said-" Steven's sentence was interrupted by Greta suddenly lunging across the table at him.

For a moment, Steven thought she was trying to attack him, but then he realized that she was actually trying to give him a smooch, which he felt was almost as bad. In fact, it was worse, since he didn't really know how to react to romantic advances. Bar brawls he knew how to deal with, but this was something he was unprepared for. Thus he flinched away and put his hands up to block the advance. Greta looked offended, but slid back off the table onto the floor.

She looked at the table, and said, "Oh, too bad; looks like your point man fell into the whirlpool and was lost forever."

Steven looked at the table, and saw one of the models had been knocked aside in Greta's attempt to kiss him. It had landed in a swirl of dark blue in the middle of what Steven presumed was the ocean. Then he noticed that was one of the light pieces.

"I thought the light pieces were Freedonia," Steven said.

"They are," Greta quickly answered, explaining, "But that particular piece is the obligatory racial diversity for the dark forces," she reached across the table and snatched the corresponding dark piece, "Which makes this the racial diversity piece for the forces of good and righteousness."

"I don't think I understand military strategy," Steven admitted, feeling rather disheartened.

Nothing about this exercise had made any sense at all to him so far. A part of his duties as knight involved strategizing, and preparing to defend Freedonia from possible attack. But he didn't get all these little pieces. Freedonia didn't even _have_ horses, so why were over half the models horses? What did racial diversity have to do with fending off invaders? And how did one just _accidentally_ lose soldiers in a dangerous section of ocean that was completely avoidable, especially when they were supposed to be invading over the mountains? And how were they supposed to invade over the mountains by coming in from the ocean anyway? He also couldn't figure out what significance, if any, kissing had in the context of warfare.

Unhappily, he realized that if he couldn't even grasp these supposedly simple concepts, he couldn't possibly hope to outsmart and defeat a full-blown witch.

Figuring he couldn't get anywhere without asking questions, Steven tried again, "Couldn't a landlocked territory make a deal with their neighbor, allowing them passage to reach the ocean?"

"Is royal custard delicious?" Greta asked.

Steven just looked at her. He had no idea what she was talking about.

"The answer is yes, obviously," Greta told him, and made another attempt to kiss him, this time coming around the side of the table to do it.

Steven again repelled her, causing her to bump into the table and knock one of the dark horse pieces off the board.

"Oh no, a hurricane seems to be decimating your forces," Greta sighed, returning to her side of the table, "I guess that means I'm winning. Would you like to surrender?"

"I can do that?" Steven asked.

"Of course," Greta replied with a sly smile and coy fluttering of eyelashes, "You can _always_ surrender to superior forces. The real question isn't if you _can_ surrender. The real question is, are you willing to accede to the victor's demands?"

For the first time since he'd entered the room, Steven felt like he understood something. In the case of Witch Celeste, she wanted to destroy Freedonia. Steven could surrender and simply let that happen, or he could resist. But, as demonstrated by the way Steven kept losing pieces every time he resisted Greta's romantic overtures, resistance could come with a cost of its own.

"I will not surrender," Steven decided.

It was perhaps the only clear decision he made for the next two hours. Greta kept throwing out rules and then "suddenly remembering" exceptions to those rules. Steven kept losing pieces without really understanding how he'd lost them. Even when they started over, Steven still floundered. Later, it would come to him that Greta actually changed the rules on him several times, but during the session it was all he could do to try and keep all the information in his head.

Inevitably, Greta beat him relentlessly several times in a row, with each victory loudly declaring, "Hail! Hail, Freedonia, Land of the Brave and Free!" while triumphantly waving her piece maneuvering stick in the air.

And so the morning passed.


	4. Chapter 4

After having been soundly and repeatedly trounced at military strategy by the Royal Adviser, Steven felt a little shy about intentionally picking a fight with a pirate. But orders were orders. Besides, he was getting a little hungry, and it seemed like he should fight the pirate _before_ he ate, rather than after. Oh, and he needed to go hunting too. That wasn't a daily task, it was just that he didn't actually have anything on him that could be rightly considered food.

It seemed like maybe he ought to hunt first, before inviting a pirate to try beating the stuffings out of him. But if he was going all the way to the forest, he might as well lure Witch Celeste out there, and hopefully kill two birds with one stone. Either that or get killed himself, in which case the hunting and the brawling would both be moot points.

Along about that time, it dawned on him that he'd told Guard Rupert that he'd offer a few combat tips today. He couldn't very well accomplish that if he was dead. He'd be in no shape for anything if he put off eating much longer. But he really didn't want another bowl of gruel. If he never ate another bowl of gruel for his entire life, he would consider himself blessed, which he supposed would mean he would have to take up a religion of some kind. But who had time for religion when there were so many things to be done for king and country?

He decided that he should head out to the training yard first. Maybe Rupert would have some ideas about how Steven might lure the witch to the forest. It also seemed possible that Rupert could actually help. That is, if he could be dragged away from the tavern long enough.

Steven found Rupert already in the training yard, clumsily swinging a sword at one of several training dummies. As Steven approached, Rupert took a wild swing that sent the blade of the sword deep into the side of the dummy. This proved problematic as the sword became firmly stuck there. Rupert had clearly expected to be able to pull back with the sword, and wound up yanking hard, losing his hold on the sword, and stumbling back a few steps. Doggedly, he reclaimed the blade and worked it slowly out of the side of the dummy.

"It helps if you pull back with the same determination you used to swing forward," Steven observed, interrupting before Rupert could take another run at the dummy, "A sword won't do you any good if you lose it in the other guy's armor partway through the fight."

Instead of responding, Rupert looked Steven up and down, "You look a little rough. Trouble sleeping?"

Rupert's guess was not entirely inaccurate, but Steven didn't want to admit that, so he replied, "Strategy session with the Royal Adviser."

"Ouch. She can be pretty brutal," Rupert sympathized.

"It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the victory dance, the song, and the fact that she kept trying to kiss me. I think that last was her way of unbalancing me before the next round, so I'd be too distracted to see what she was doing."

"Better not let Build Master Krispin catch you kissing Greta," Rupert advised, "Speaking as someone who's been assigned to guard the Throne Room before, things can get pretty steamy between those two whenever Lord Spaulding isn't around."

"What's Lord Spaulding got to do with it?" Steven asked, well aware that of all the women Spaulding had his romantic eyes on, Greta was not one of them.

"Nothing," Rupert answered, "Except that, according to Krispin, it would be unseemly for the monarch to see him and the Royal Adviser kissing passionately when they're supposed to be strategizing. There's a war on, you know."

"Between Tredony and Aarbyville, sure," Steven replied, "But Freedonia is largely neutral."

"And Lord Spaulding wants to keep it that way," Rupert said, "We can't afford to pay higher guild prices, but we haven't the defensive capabilities to hold off angry pirates either."

"I'm well aware of that, but I don't see how Lord Spaulding catching his Adviser and Build Master making out in a hallway would affect anything. Isn't the more important thing the fact that they're not doing their jobs, not whether or not anybody sees them not doing their jobs?"

Rupert sighed, "You poor, simple man. You really haven't spent much time in the castle, have you?"

"I was only made a knight yesterday," Steven reminded him.

"Let me break it down for you: everyone knows that the only way the loyalty of annexed territories is increased is by the passing of edicts and the patrolling of borders. Those are things Lord Spaulding does when he feels like it, apparently according to whim. He almost never talks to his Adviser first when it comes to things like that. Even less so when he decides it's time to annex another territory. The strategizing the Royal Adviser and the Build Master do is just for show. It doesn't _mean_ anything."

"That can't be right," Steven protested, "Why, it was one of my duties today to attend a strategy session with Royal Adviser Greta. Why would I get written orders to do that if it didn't matter? That doesn't make any sense."

"Did you learn anything at the strategy session?" Rupert asked, "Like where Gastrobury is on the map? Or what Advorton's leader wants in exchange for agreeing to annexation?"

That brought Steven up short. He realized that Rupert seemed to have a point. Steven had learned the names of the various models in play, and he'd figured out how to use that weird stick to push them around the table, and he'd learned a lot of rules (many of which he suspected Greta had fabricated) as to how the pieces moved and were taken off the board... but none of that seemed to relate back to the actual military state of Freedonia and the territories surrounding her.

Seeing Steven's faltering expression, Rupert drove the point home, "See? What have you done this morning? And would things be any different if you'd spent the same amount of time engaged in..." there was a pause, before the slightly lame conclusion, "Passionate kissing with a beautiful woman?"

Distracted, floundering again, Steven murmured, "You think Greta's beautiful?"

Rupert didn't answer. Steven looked at him, and realized that Rupert had seen Minstrel Rhianwen on her way to shopping at the village, at which point he had entirely forgotten the conversation, and indeed everything _besides_ Rhianwen. Steven did have to admit that the woman was strikingly beautiful. Moreover, she was nice to everybody and consequently was almost universally liked, and these days her musical aptitude was second to none.

Rupert gave a fluttery sigh as the dark-haired beauty disappeared down the path. At this point, Steven realized that Rupert wasn't going to be any help at all when it came to dealing with the witch.

* * *

Just as Steven was finishing the training session with Rupert, he spotted Witch Celeste near the well. She seemed to be spell casting, but without a great deal of success. Even though his empty stomach would have had it otherwise, Steven decided that he had to get the witch now, before those failing spells started actually working as intended. Steven wasn't entirely sure what Celeste was trying to do, but -having seen the bodies in the woods- he didn't really want to find out.

Finally, he did know just how he was going to lure the witch to the forest. Perhaps that strategy session with Royal Adviser Greta had taught him something after all.

Dodging around the latest in a long line of suicidally loud town criers, Steven approached Witch Celeste from behind. As he came towards her, she seemed to sense him, and turned to wait. Now he had a plan, Steven was more confident than before. It was a good plan, and it would work. He felt certain that he was well prepared for a fight. Perhaps if the kingdom had had a wizard to warn him about what witches were truly capable of, he would have felt differently.

"Sir Steven," the witch said cordially.

"Witch Celeste," Steven replied with equal politeness, even bowing slightly.

"Oh, you do come up with such creative prefixes, don't you," Celeste said, "Makes a girl want to blush. But you did not come here just to flatter me, did you?"

"No, I came here with a proposition for you."

" _Really_ , Sir Steven," Celeste said, with honeyed sweetness, "You would try to make romantic advances now, even knowing that I might be awaiting a love letter from Lord Spaulding?"

"It's not a romantic proposition," Steven said, "It's a business one."

"Come now, Sir Steven. _I'm_ not that kind of girl, and I'm quite certain _you_ aren't that sort of man either," Celeste responded coyly.

"Stop making my words what they aren't, and listen to me for a moment," Steven snapped, forgetting public civility for a beat, "You want to stay here, and I want you to leave. So I propose that we go out into the woods, and whichever of us can capture a live dire chinchilla first will be declared the victor. If I win, you leave Freedonia immediately, never to return."

"Fine for you, but what about when I win?" Celeste inquired, her red eyes glittering evilly.

" _If_ you win," Steven emphasized, "I will recommend you be appointed the kingdom's wizard, with all the privileges and trappings thereof."

A slow, wicked smile spread across Celeste's face, "I _knew_ I liked you, Sir Steven," she paused for a breath, then said, "You have a deal. It will have to be somewhat later, however. Right now I'm expecting a letter."

"I have some duties to attend to, myself," Steven told her, "So how about we meet at the forest entrance, say... an hour from now?"

"Two," Celeste decided firmly, then smiled that sickly sweet smile of hers again, adding, "Wouldn't want to rush dear Lord Spaulding's letter writing, would we?"

"As you wish," Steven answered, for truly it didn't make a lot of difference to him.

Two hours was plenty of time. He could make a trip to the village, followed by a stop off to his new living quarters for a meal and still make it to the forest before Witch Celeste. He decided against the hunting in the forest option, figuring it was inherently more hazardous, and deciding that going out there alone where the witch knew he would be was unwise if he was not prepared to face her. In the village he'd have to pay for his meat, but he hadn't yet figured out what to spend his new wages on anyway. A whole world was opened up to him by having a place to live and a regular salary, and he wasn't sure what to do with it, especially in such small living quarters.

As he was paying for some fowl meat in the village, Steven's attention was drawn to sounds of excitement some little distance down the street. A great deal of shouting was going on, and it sounded a bit like there might be a fight. With half a mind to break it up, and the other half set to watching the battle for his own amusement (depending on who was doing the fighting), Steven went to investigate.

What he found was several villagers throwing rocks at a young elf girl. Other citizens were merely watching or even cheering them on. The girl looked very small and very frightened, surrounded by the jeering crowd and doing her best to duck the projectiles hurled in her direction.

Steven was angered by this sight, as there clearly could be no decent excuse for the crowd's behavior. Even if the girl was some kind of criminal, like a thief, it was clear she was helpless to defend herself or escape, yet instead of taking her in for judgment, the crowd was meting out their own punishment on a young girl that, for all Steven knew, was completely innocent of any crime.

Furiously, he dove into the fray, shouting at the mob to stop, and to leave the girl alone. Apparently not recognizing the authority of their newly appointed knight, the mob simply turned and began to throw stones at Steven instead. Fortunately, these people had no skill in combat, so it was relatively easy for Steven to dodge the rocks, come up to one person after another and thrash them until they pleaded for mercy and fled, before he turned to the next offender. He made short work of the mob in this fashion.

Seeing their fellow villagers losing the fight, some of the bystanders suddenly got in on the act, and began to throw produce at him. Specifically potatoes. Their aim was considerably better than that of the rock throwing mob, and numerous potatoes struck home. One even hit Steven right above the eye, temporarily half-blinding him, and leaving him with a nasty gash that would eventually scar.

By this point, the elf child was long gone, and Steven soon found himself hopelessly outnumbered and surrounded by potato hurling ruffians, the very people he was meant to be protecting. He could not hope to defeat them all without drawing his sword, and he had no wish to risk harming ordinary citizens extensively. Besides which, that was the sort of behavior that got you tossed into The Pit. Even so, he found any chance of escaping without committing to extreme violence rapidly slipping away.

Then, out of the crowd, someone shouted, "Lord Spaulding is coming! Run!"

As suddenly as the violence had started, it was at an end. Dazed and bruised, Steven was suddenly alone on the street, standing amidst a pile of potatoes, as Lord Spaulding came strolling around the corner. Lord Spaulding stopped to take in the scene.

"Well," he observed in some surprise, looking at the potatoes all over the ground, "The villagers certainly seem generous with their produce today."

"Too generous, I feel, my Lord," Steven replied wanly.

Upon reflection, the forest may have been the safer option.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Steven had picked himself up, discovered nearly a dozen of the potatoes that had been hurled at him were perfectly good, and shuffled back up the road to the barracks part of the castle, he realized that he would have to hurry on to the forest if he wanted to get there ahead of Celeste.

Walking with a pronounced limp, Steven made his painful way uphill to the forest entrance. The confidence he'd held that morning was all but gone, and he had a faint voice in his head telling him that there was something else he should be doing after this (assuming he survived), only he'd forgotten what it was. All he really wanted to do right now was go home, turn some of the potatoes he'd picked up after his beating into soup, eat the soup and then take a nap.

But of course, that would be shirking his responsibility to deal with the witch.

On the flat plateau just outside the forest, Steve was grimly astonished to find Celeste already there and waiting for _him_. So much for the element of surprise.

"You've looked better," Celeste observed dryly.

Steven's plan had been to take the witch by surprise, and to kill her before she saw the blow coming. But now it turned out she was here, looking right at him. With the extensive injuries he'd sustained being pelted with potatoes, he couldn't hope to draw his sword terribly quickly, much less close the gap between them before the witch should do something to counter his attack. So he stood silently, wondering distantly whether he was even in good enough shape to try and play out the dire chinchilla hunting charade he'd used to lure Witch Celeste up here with.

Celeste continued in purring tone,"You could also-" then her voice turned harsh and nasty, "-look _worse_!"

As she spoke the last, Celeste lifted her hands and spears of darkness seemed to fly from her fingertips. Instinctively, Steven dropped and rolled, trying to dodge. But these weren't real spears, they were a magic spell directed at Steven, and they followed him unerringly.

Steven felt them strike against his back, and then felt overcome with a grave weariness. Staggering from this new ailment, Steven knew that the witch would kill him if he did nothing. The spell she'd hit him with was disabling, but after that first flush of exhaustion hit, Steven realized he wasn't dying from the spell. His body was weak, his thoughts sluggish, but he wasn't in further danger, except that now Celeste was moving in to finish what she'd started.

There was only one thing Steven could do. He couldn't fight now. His arms felt limp and useless, and he doubted he could lift his sword, much less make use of it. He had maybe seconds before the exhaustion became too much and he simply collapsed. There was only one chance. If he fled into the forest, the shadows therein might conceal him. He needed to lose the witch. Even if he was to die, he would prefer it be somewhere by himself in the forest, rather than in the presence of Celeste. If she would kill him, at least he would not have to look at her as she did so.

For the first time in his life, Steven found himself running from a fight. In its way, the choice to flee for his life was as painful and humiliating as being pelted with potatoes had been. In fact, it was worse, because Steven knew what the witch would do if no one stopped her. And who was left?

Lord Spaulding, who believed nothing was amiss? Guard Rhona, who only thought of Celeste as a rival for the king's affection? Guard Rupert, with eyes only for Minstrel Rhianwen? Royal Adviser Greta, with her model armies and stick? Who would stop Celeste, if not Steven himself?

Fueled by the need to outrun the feeling of guilt, and to escape from these morbid thoughts, Steven actually went quite some distance into the forest before collapsing. Only after he fell in a pile of moldering leaves did he look back and realize to his chagrin that Celeste had not even attempted to pursue him. He felt like he should know why she didn't chase him... but he didn't.

In fact, as he lay where he'd fallen, it came to Steven that he didn't really know a lot of things. And also he wasn't sure he cared. It was good to lie here, not moving, not thinking, not worrying about or doing anything. He didn't even feel hurt or hungry anymore... just tired.

Vaguely, he became aware of a distant chanting. He didn't know what it meant, and he didn't think it mattered. Dimly, he noticed a group of people -elves from the look of them- gathering around him, murmuring quietly to one another. Faintly, he recalled some proverb about witches fearing to be in the forest when dark elves were about, and he wondered if that was why Celeste had not pursued him.

One of the elves hesitantly reached out and touched him. Getting no reaction, the elf grew bolder, and gave Steven a bit of a shove. When Steven still didn't react, the elf scampered back to where the others of its kind waited. They held what sounded to be an urgent conference.

Still conscious, but uncaring, Steven watched through dimming vision as the people of the forest deliberated. The wood elves were notoriously shy, but also potentially quite dangerous to the unwary. Steven had heard stories of people being trampled by startled wood elves. He'd also heard that there was some sort of magical tree in the forest which belonged to the elves, and many who had stumbled across it had sought to cut it down and take it for themselves, only to discover that elves protected their sacred tree very enthusiastically. Steven supposed that being trampled wouldn't be any worse than the rest of his day had been. In any case, he was too weak now to get up, much less defend himself.

Then a new elf stepped forward from the group. With as much shock as his weary brain could register, Steven found he recognized her. This was the elf child he'd seen attacked in the village. Gently she stepped forward, and knelt beside him, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder.

"I could not express my gratitude to you before," she said in soft glowing voice, "But I shall do so now, by lifting the witch's curse from you. Truly I do not feel the world's beauty would be lessened by the death of those villagers, and would not mind the witch's destroying them all, making more room for our forest to grow. But you saved my life, and thus I offer you this cure as thanks."

As she spoke, Steven felt such energy as he should have had coming back to him. His fogged brain began to clear. Before the process was complete, the elves had departed, leaving Steven alone to recover his strength and senses, and to wonder if he had hallucinated it all. At least, he wondered until he happened to look down and saw that three mana stones had been left in a pile. Steven had no use for the stones himself, but he recognized their rarity and value nonetheless.

Thoughtfully, he put them in his pocket, and got to his feet.

It was time to put an end to this. The Witch Celeste _must_ die.

* * *

Steven found Lord Spaulding in the castle study, hunched over the scribe table therein and writing furiously. On the other side of the room, Greta was waving her strategy stick menacingly at an unhappy looking guard whose name Steven had not learned yet. She appeared to be coercing the guard into strategizing. Steven opted to ignore that, at least for the moment.

Patiently, he waited for Lord Spaulding to finish his writing. But before he could get a word in edgewise about the witch, Lord Spaulding leaped to his feet indignantly.

"Where have you been?" Lord Spaulding demanded, "I notice that singing pirate is still singing, so either you didn't beat him up, or you didn't do it well enough. Might I recommend some sort of choking maneuver?" he mimed the move he had in mind.

"I've been in the forest," Steven began, "I went there-"

"To avoid the pirate, I imagine," Lord Spaulding interrupted, "Fine knight you are, hiding from a pirate in the forest. If I wanted real security, I would've built a tower for the spy instead of a barracks for you. Then at least I would know someone was out there trying to assassinate the nuisances of the world."

"But I've been trying-" Steven did not get to finish.

"Yes, I'll say you are. _Very_ trying," Lord Spaulding replied, "Yesterday it was a witch, this afternoon it was potato throwing peasants, and now you'll be telling me the forest elves are back."

"Actually-"

"Forget it," Lord Spaulding cut him off smoothly, "I'm sorry you lost your temper. But I'm far too busy to be bothered with whatever it is you're trying to bother me with. I've got to go kiss my beloved Rhona goodbye before I sail off to... erm... another country for a... uh... diplomatic exchange."

"So you've chosen Rhona for your wife?" Steven managed, scrambling to try and follow this.

"Yes, and I've decided to follow the Jacoban faith, because I like churches with spires, the kind it looks like you could just impale someone on," Lord Spaulding said, "Things are far too sunny and bright around here. We need a little doom and gloom to liven up the place."

"Uh... yes, my Lord," Steven replied uneasily.

"Besides, having a wedding in the town square is ridiculous. Believe me, I've tried it. I'd try it again if I had to, but marrying in the church should simplify things enormously."

"I'll take your word for that," replied the baffled Steven.

"Oh, and before I forget, here. Take this."

Lord Spaulding handed Steven a smooth gray object that fit in the palm of his hand.

"Use that whistle to call Firefly. I'm far too busy with this wife and child thing to be dealing with two birds at once, and the parrot brings treasure and shiny objects, and I appreciate that. So I leave it to you to take good care of Firefly."

"I will, My Lord," Steven replied, not at all certain how to 'take good care' of any bird, much less an expensive and exceptional creature such as a gyrfalcon.

"Anyway, I'm off," Lord Spaulding said, calling over his shoulder as he stalked out of the castle, "Good luck with executing the witch. If you can pull that off, I'll make you a captain."

Steven watched his king go, head spinning with incomprehension (or was that just a potato related injury?). Finally he managed to latch onto one key piece of information. He had his Lord's permission to kill the witch. It wasn't signed permission, but it was permission nonetheless. Steven decided to take that and run with it, before circumstances changed and he found himself floundering again. For the moment, he knew what he had to do, and he had received formal permission to do it.

Just as Steven was trying to leave, Build Master Krispin returned from whatever he'd been doing, at which point Royal Adviser Greta abandoned the poor guard she'd been harassing in favor of this new target. Greta and Krispin met in the doorway, preventing Steven from actually leaving. Just as Rupert had asserted, they began almost at once to do some very steamy kissing there in the doorway, apparently not caring a bit if anyone on either side wanted to get by.

Several minutes later, they disengaged long enough to step out of the doorway, allowing Irving the Servant to get into the room to mop the already quite thoroughly spotless floor, and for Steven to escape the castle and go out in search of Executioner Bailiff.

Tired, still badly hurt, very hungry and recently cursed, Steven was in no mood for anyone's nonsense. He'd had all he intended to take. Therefore, he was quite short with the Executioner.

"Executioner Bailiff," he began formally.

"Yes, Sir?" Bailiff replied.

"See that woman over there?" Steven asked, pointing to where Witch Celeste was once more attempting to cast spells in the town square.

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, she's a witch. Lord Spaulding would like you to execute her. Think you can do that?"

"Yes, Sir," Bailiff replied.

"Are you sure?" Steven asked, "Because she's very dangerous. She's already cursed me once."

"I'm sure, Sir," Bailiff told him with a kind of flat confidence.

Unconvinced, Steven followed the Executioner as he shuffled downhill from his posting in the Judgment Zone, and into the town square.

"You there," Bailiff said to the witch, "I've come to see to your execution."

To Steven's intense surprise, Witch Celeste did not protest or even try to escape.

"Yes," she said quietly, "I see."

"Come along with me, and we'll get you executed right away," Bailiff said.

"Okay," the witch answered, sounding... almost meek.

In growing disbelief, Steven watched as the witch was escorted to the Judgment Zone. Executioner Bailiff didn't have to prod her, she simply walked down the plank, and hopped into the Pit. Steven remained suspicious, sure she must have a way out of this one. But, to his amazement, the Beast arose from the depths, and grabbed onto the witch, and swallowed her almost at once with a loud gulp.

The suddenly gathered crowd, a highly skilled group of professional gawpers, watched the brief fight, and applauded its conclusive end, before dispersing. For once, Steven was not off-put by their behavior. He was more than happy to have witnessed the end of Witch Celeste. As far as he was concerned, that end was long overdue. Still...

He turned to Bailiff, "She gave me a devil of a time, but she didn't give you any trouble at all."

"Of course not, Sir," the Executioner replied flatly, "Nobody argues with a duly appointed servant of the Grim Reaper."

"Why not?" Steven asked.

"Why..." Bailiff answered rather incredulously, "It simply isn't done!"

"I see," Steven sighed, "Well... I'm going to go home. And I am going to sleep."

"Yes, Sir," Bailiff replied, "You do that, Sir."

Steven found he could not argue with that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 2 – The Wizard's Problem**

 _"Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you. I'll not willingly offend, nor be easily offended."  
 **-Bruce Lee**_

* * *

For a time after the demise of Witch Celeste, things were relatively peaceful in Freedonia. Freedonia's newly captained knight spent his days quietly fulfilling his daily responsibilities in a fashion common only to those truly dedicated to their work. In addition to leading hunts to help provide meat to those living within Freedonia's walls, Steven also worked at training his guards, and assigning them to patrol borders as well as protect areas formerly popular with bandits such as the forest and the road leading to the village. Knowing what he now did about witches, Steven was able to better instruct the royal guards in spotting and dealing with witches before they had a chance to become as powerful as Witch Celeste had been.

In the meantime, the kingdom of Freedonia was beginning to grow. Not just in size, but also in wealth and influence. Ferociously neutral in the Tredony and Aarbyville war, she had become a convenient dumping ground for criminals on both sides, most especially the ones that needed to be executed. This latter was mainly because of Freedonia's conveniently located Pit with obligatory Pit Beast, which made for no fuss no muss executions. It seemed a peculiar thing to become famous for, but surrounding territories were beginning to take notice of Freedonia, and to seek the protection of this new kingdom, which they hoped would keep this messy war business out of their backyards.

Lord Spaulding, king of Freedonia, had spent some time chatting up the leadership of a territory known as Advorton. Officially, the people of Advorton were, to a man, an adventurous, bold lot, masterful hunters and exceptional fighters. Unofficially, they were struggling to survive as the side effects of war spilled over into their territory. Lord Spaulding knew this, and saw it as an opportunity to annex the territory into Freedonia.

At that point, he'd been met with a bit of a snag. Advorton was willing to be annexed, but only if Freedonia could prove herself worthy of them. Being a people who loved the entertainment of a good contest, it was proposed that a tournament be held. If Freedonia's champion could win it, Advorton's proud people would more gracefully submit to the new ruler.

This was where the stalwart guardian of Freedonia, Captain Steven Westmoreland, came in. Though actually he came in through the open door to the throne room in response to a summons from Lord Spaulding, who explained all of this to him before concluding

"I would do it myself, but I don't want to. So I'm making it your job."

"I will do my best, My Lord," Steven responded politely.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure," Lord Spaulding said with a dismissive wave, "But you know there's only one good and proper way to annex a country."

"With honor and diplomacy?" Steven guessed.

"No, by cheating," Lord Spaulding replied haughtily, "So I hired a new wizard especially for this occasion."

"Why?" Steven asked uneasily.

"Because a poison master was too expensive," Lord Spaulding said sensibly.

"Ah," Steven acknowledged.

Just recently, there had been several additions made to the kingdom. One of them was an add-on to the castle for the spy to live in. Lord Spaulding had considered hiring a more capable spy than the one already living in the kingdom, but his wife had convinced him it wasn't worth the expense.

Speaking of the former guard, Rhona, shortly after her marriage to Lord Spaulding, she had successfully provided him with a male heir, whom they had named Jeffrey. For some reason, Rhona felt that the best place for the baby's bassinet was in the middle of the throne room. She being the wife of Freedonia's inexplicably beloved monarch, no one dared question the decision.

Apparently, a final new addition to the kingdom was a formally appointed wizard. Steven wasn't sure how he felt about this. Intellectually, he knew that there was a huge difference between a kingdom's wizard, and a free range witch, but Steven was still pretty turned off to the idea. The generically handsome young knight had spent the first few days of his appointment trying to rid Freedonia of a witch whom no one else had believed in. The effort had nearly killed him, and he'd been quite wary of any spell-casters ever since that time. Steven had learned a lot from that experience, but it was not one he wanted to repeat.

"Is it to be a spell-casting tournament?" Steven asked, puzzled.

"Absolutely not. Don't be absurd," Lord Spaulding snapped, "It's going to be the traditional three-part tournament like they have annually at Advorton. First, a round of kingball. Then a drinking contest. Finally, a duel."

"Then I'm afraid I don't see why a wizard's help is needed," Steven admitted.

"It isn't," Lord Spaulding said, "But obviously you can't win this thing by yourself."

"Obviously?" Steven repeated, wounded in his pride that his Lord doubted his abilities.

"Have you ever played kingball before?" Lord Spaulding asked.

"No, My Lord," Steven said, not pointing out that he would not have had the time to do so, as the court had only been completed a scant few days ago.

"Well there you are then," Lord Spaulding concluded.

"But how is a wizard going to help me win a sport I don't know how to play?" Steven asked.

"That's what I like to call: The Wizard's Problem," Lord Spaulding replied, "So go ask her to solve it."

"Understood, My Lord," Steven said, "Where does the wizard live?"

"I haven't got time for all of these questions," Lord Spaulding replied in annoyance, "If you've got to ask more of them, go speak with Greta or something. Now shoo, I've got important monarching to do."

* * *

Steven had no trouble finding Royal Adviser Greta, who was manning the strategy table in the study to one side of the throne room as usual. Steven assumed that the thin, gray-haired lady must have some other duties besides dragging people into "strategy sessions" that had nothing at all to do with strategy, but he'd never seen her perform any of them.

"Ah, Captain Steven!" Greta called, waving him over, "Come, help me plan an attack on The Cave."

"I'm afraid I have other tasks today," Steven replied with stiff politeness.

The Cave was a spookish place near Freedonia's cemetary; a place full of mystery, magical legends, ghosts and probably spiders. No one lived there that Steven was aware of, so attacking it would seem to be a waste of time. Steven was determined _not_ to ask about it.

"What could possibly be more important than ridding the world of crabs?" Greta demanded impatiently, "Aside from making them into stew. Got to have crabs to make crab stew. But never mind that! What do you mean you have tasks?"

"Lord Spaulding has told me to go speak with the wizard about the upcoming tournament between Freedonia and Advorton," Steven explained.

"Wizard? What wizard? Who let a wizard in here? I didn't approve any wizard!" Greta snapped, then shouted, "Krispin! Did you install a wizard without telling me?"

Build Master Krispin was, as usual, deeply involved in a game of cards with Rhona. He was two rooms away, but he'd heard Greta's strident call, and waved a hand absently so that it could be seen through the open door. Halfway between the two, in the middle of the throne room, Jeffrey began to fuss in his bassinet, disturbing the card game.

"I guess he did," Greta decided, "Well, never mind that. About these crabs-"

"I _really_ have to go," Steven interrupted, starting to back away, "I have this champion to fight and win a kingball match against, you know how it is."

"I love kingball," Greta said, "Did you know I was one of the three people involved in its invention? The other two are dead now, too many king balls to the face."

"Really?" Steven asked, trying not to show how disheartening he found that statement, "I don't know anything about kingball. Could you tell me something about it?"

"No," Greta replied, "It's best if you find out for yourself."

"I see," Steven said slowly, realizing that here was a sentence he'd never expected to say out loud, "Well, if you'll tell me where to find the wizard's house... I'll let you get back to... your crabs."

"House, what house? We built a tower," Greta said, "And when I say 'we', I mean Krispin. Anyway, you know that free standing plateau off the sea-side cliff?"

"Yes..." Steven replied hesitantly, not at all liking where this was going.

"Well, we figured there was no better place to keep a wizard. It's far away from us, so we don't get the horrible smell of her potions up here. It's dangerously located, to discourage people from going there, because they really shouldn't. And it's liable to fall into the ocean any day now, and drowning a wizard via natural causes is on my bucket list, so that's just a great bonus."

"I see," Steven said, not sure that he did, "So... how do I get there? The plateau is isolated."

"Oh well the plan was for the wizard to build a magical bridge to the plateau. If we really do have one, I assume they did that. In retrospect, if we'd built a bridge before beginning construction on the tower, we might have lost fewer builders to the icy grip of the abyssal depths. On the upside, the whale colony down there is _well fed_."

"And... that's a good thing?" Steven wanted to get out of this conversation, but found he couldn't quite drag himself away yet. Almost morbidly, he found that he had to see just how deep this rabbit hole went.

"Have you had whale meat? It's delicious!" Greta exclaimed, "And now we've got a kingdom full of people angry at whales for eating their parents and looking to get revenge by slaying them. It's the perfect system."

Steven was stunned into silence for several beats.

Finally, he said, "That... sounds... horrible."

"Doesn't it though?" Greta cackled with delight, "Now, about those crabs..."

"I'm going away now," Steven told her, and then he did just that.

After leaving the castle, Steven took the downhill path that branched off to the docks. Following the path straight to its end led to the town square. Partway along the path, looking to the left, he spotted what citizens had always called The Free Standing Plateau. It was no longer entirely free standing, as a moss-covered stone bridge had formed out the side of the cliff and connected to the plateau. It was incredibly narrow, and the middle looked like it might crumble away at any moment.

Steven looked down.

It was a long drop to the jagged rocks near the shore. As he looked, he saw a spray of water rise, followed by the breaching of a truly massive creature, which he could only assume was a whale. He'd never seen a whale before. Having seen one now, and knowing what it had been eating, he wasn't sure he wanted to see one again either.

Steven looked across the bridge, to the Wizard's Tower. The tall spire seemed to grow out of the ground like a massive spike of stone. Whereas the lighthouse near the docks looked sturdy and well-made, this three-story structure looked like a stiff wind would wipe it off the map. Based on Greta's explanation of the choice of location, Steven guessed that if the tower did fall it would be functioning as intended.

Summoning up his courage by telling himself that he had to carry out his orders, and that Freedonia really needed the benefits provided by Advorton, and that he could not hope to win the kingball tournament without some kind of advantage since he didn't even know how to play, he stepped onto the bridge. It bore his weight without complaining, so he gradually, cautiously, inched his way across it until he made it to the plateau. The plateau itself felt more rickety than the bridge, and he was convinced he could feel the rock shifting underfoot as he went to the tower and knocked on the door.

"Come in," said a sweet-sounding voice.

Suspecting nothing because he had not only been ordered to come here, but also invited in, Steven opened the door, stepped inside... and promptly tried to duck as a hot blast of all-too-familiar dark energy lashed out towards him.

"Shoot, it didn't work. Try coming in again, I'll get it right next time."

Steven knew a Curse spell had been thrown at him, because that was the exact spell Witch Celeste had cast on him not too long ago. Only Witch Celeste's curse had been more powerful, and had been able to follow Steven when he moved. This Curse had simply smashed with tremendous force into the wall behind where Steven's head had been a moment before and shattered into a million dark fragments before vanishing.

For a half second, he felt a pang of real fear that the defeat of Witch Celeste had been some sort of dream, and that she had actually been made the kingdom's wizard. But peering around the side of the door to look at the woman holding the staff told him that such was not the case.

This woman had darker skin than Celeste had had, and her ears came to an elfin point. Her hair fell in rich cascades of sea green around her shoulders. Her eyes, the color of green sapphires, were nearly hidden behind a dark green masquerade mask which shaded to teal. The mask went well with her dress, which was a deep forest green for the most part, except for the shoulders and sleeves, which were teal. Silver filigree was abundant on the dress and the mask.

"I didn't come here to get Cursed," Steven protested.

"And I didn't wave my staff just to have the spell fail," the woman retorted, "If you were a real man, you'd treat me like a lady and honor my request."

"To get Cursed?" Steven asked incredulously.

"Yes!" she shouted, "Now get out and come back in again, and stand still for heaven's sake! I can't hit you if you bounce all over the place like an excited chinchilla."

"I..." Steven began, then his face darkened with genuine anger as he recovered from his confused surprise and realized what had nearly happened to him, "No! No, I will _not_. Look, I came here to ask for your help, but if you don't want to give it, I'll just be going."

He retreated behind the door as he said this.

"Yeah, go!" the wizard shouted after him, "And take your tiny manhood with you!"


	7. Chapter 7

Even though the parting shot was largely nonsensical and no one else had heard it, somehow it was still humiliating, and Steven couldn't help but feel as if he'd lost a fight. A ridiculous fight, but a fight nonetheless.

As he crossed the bridge, he wondered how he might have handled the situation better. But how were you supposed to react when someone tried to Curse you? It was generally considered extremely rude when someone Cursed you. Having been Cursed before, but by someone much more powerful than the kingdom's new wizard seemed to be, Steven felt he had a personal grievance against anyone trying to put that spell on him.

Irritated and less sure than ever as to how he was supposed to win a kingball match with no knowledge of the sport, Steven all but blundered into someone coming up the path from town.

"You there!" cried the man, "Are you the knight of Freedonia?"

"Who are you?" Steven asked, trying not to show his annoyance.

"I am Sir Stabsalot. I've come on a journey from a far off land to prove that I am the greatest fighter of all time. The Knight of Freedonia, one..." he appeared to be checking a note he had on his person, "Captain Steven Westmoreland... is my next opponent."

"I am he, but-" before Steven could explain that he had better things to do than fight random strangers, Sir Stabsalot had drawn his sword and taken his first swing at Steven's head.

Realizing it was to be one of those days, Steven quickly stepped back out of the sword's range, and drew his own blade. Sir Stabsalot had put a lot of heft into that first strike, which caused him to really bury his sword in the ground when he missed Steven.

Grunting, Sir Stabsalot said, "Hang on a moment. I just need to... get... unstuck..."

More out of bemusement than anything, Steven acquiesced to the request, though truly neither the knight's code nor his own personal code of chivalry forbade taking out an assailant at the first opportunity. If someone was dumb enough to stick their sword into the ground, that was their own business. Steven usually had better things to do than waste his time granting second chances to fools in a duel. But it so happened that he wanted to blow off a little steam after that encounter with the wizard, and Sir Stabsalot had basically volunteered.

"Ah, here we go," Sir Stabsalot announced triumphantly, yanking his sword free of the ground, "Have at you!" and he charged with outrageous clumsiness towards Steven, as if he were mounted on a horse and carrying a lance, instead of on the ground with a sword.

Deftly, Steven stepped aside, taking the opportunity to clout Sir Stabsalot on the head with the hilt of his sword as his opponent trundled past him. Sir Stabsalot crumpled to the ground. Steven pivoted, and stood waiting to see if his opponent to be foolish enough to get up, as he had no wish to be literally stabbed in the back as he was walking away.

Sure enough, Sir Stabsalot was exactly that foolish. He got up, slowly and dizzily, and shuffled around until he faced Steven once more. Wildly, he raised his sword above his head and ran at Steven again, though he sort of zig-zagged on the way over. Stepping aside yet again, Steven caught the fellow by the arm as he flailed past, and threw him to the ground.

"You could always just surrender," Sir Stabsalot suggested, his voice slightly muffled because he was face down in the grass alongside the path.

"Sorry," Steven replied, "It's not in my nature."

"Oh. Well. It was worth a try," Sir Stabsalot said, slowly rolling over and getting to his feet.

Immediately, he threw himself at Steven again, but this time there was no need to dodge at all, for his aim was off and he went sailing through the air to Steven's right, tripped on the ground's incline, and knocked himself down while Steven looked on.

Variants of this theme played themselves out over the next several minutes, much longer than Steven had anticipated the fight going for. But finally Sir Stabsalot surrendered, and headed down to the docks, presumably to return home in shame.

After the fight, Steven pulled out the flat, gray whistle that Lord Spaulding had given him, and blew a simple tune into it. Within moments, from where Steven knew not, Firefly the Falcon came sailing in, screaming to announce his arrival and demand an arm perch to land on.

The huge gyrfalcon was mostly white, with a few black speckles on his tail and wings. Originally, Firefly had belonged to Lord Spaulding. Even now so fine a bird would be out of Steven's price range. But he had been given Firefly to care for, because Lord Spaulding asserted he had neither the time nor the will to manage two birds, and that he himself preferred his parrot, Birbsy, to Firefly.

Steven held up his arm and Firefly landed with surprising lightness for something so large. Steven opened the pouch on his belt where he kept bits of meat for Firefly, and gave the falcon a snack as reward for coming when called. He then gently stroked the great bird's soft feathers, whispering the command to go hunting as he did so. With a loud flapping of mighty wings, the creature took off and disappeared over the tops of the trees. Only after finding something to bring back would Firefly return.

There was no reason for Steven to wait for Firefly. It could be hours before Firefly came back, or he might not even come back until morning.

Thus, feeling much better about things, Steven continued on towards the Kingball Court.

* * *

The Kingball Court was built on a low mesa with several paths carved into its sides, onto which had been hammered a carefully constructed piece of flat, triangular stone. Each corner of the stone had odd markings and large, smooth rocks, and a lighted lamp post behind it. In the center was some sort of mysterious Icovellavna engraved on an otherwise perfectly smooth piece of circular stone laid atop the court itself. It looked like it was meant for sacrificing a goat on or something.

Steven could not even begin to guess what any of this was supposed to represent, or where players were supposed to stand or what they were to do. However, he found the court partially occupied. Guard Rupert, Steven's friend, had been trying to figure out the game with the help of Lord Spaulding's personal servant, Irving. They had apparently determined that a large ball and some enormous paddles were somehow involved, for each of them had one of the latter and they were trying to hit the former with them, without a great deal of success.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Steven inquired, though his status as knight gave him license to simply shove most people out of his way if he so desired.

"Captain Steven!" Irving exclaimed nervously.

They had not been formally introduced, but it seemed to Steven that Irving was perpetually a bundle of anxiety. He decided the best way to deal with this was to pretend not to notice.

"Sure," Rupert, much more relaxed with Steven, said, "Pick up a paddle from the pile over there and take a corner."

These instructions seemed simple enough, so Steven picked up a paddle which looked slightly less worn out than the rest, and went to a corner of the court.

"Okay, now what?" Steven asked.

"Now this!" Rupert replied, tossing the ball in the air and whacking it with a paddle.

Quick reflexes alone saved Steven, as he lifted his paddle like a shield to block the ball's trajectory. The ball bounced off the paddle and hit the ground with an incredibly loud thunk, as of a hunk of iron crashing against rock. It had felt a lot like a hunk of iron when Steven blocked it as well, heavy and unforgiving. He remembered Greta claiming to be involved in the sport's development, and decided that any game where you purposely fired potentially lethal projectiles at one another was a game which the Royal Adviser _had_ to have been behind.

"Oh, too bad," Rupert said, not sounding a bit sympathetic, "That's a point for me."

"A point for you? For what? Trying to brain me?" Steven demanded.

"You chucked the ball into the ground. Bad luck, Steven. Now pick it up and hit it back," Rupert instructed.

Knowing himself to be much faster and stronger than Rupert, Steven could see no way for this to end well. Certainly it had not been his intention to come out here and murder his friend with a twenty pound ball of metal encased in a layer of canvas. Since the kingdom had no physician, any wound had the potential to be a mortal one, something Steven had found out the hard way after once nearly being beaten to death with potatoes.

"This seems... dangerous," Steven ventured.

"Oh, extremely!" Rupert answered excitedly, "Now hit it over here."

Shrugging, Steven obeyed. To his surprise, Rupert not only managed to block the ball, but to hit it back. This time Steven's reflexes did not save him, and he caught the ball full in the face. It knocked him flat, and for awhile he lay on the ground, staring at the black spots dancing in his vision and wondering why he wasn't unconscious. He was aware of Rupert and Irving unconcernedly continuing the game without him. Eventually, deciding he was inexplicably not dead, he got up.

Cautiously, Steven touched where the ball had hit him in the face. It definitely hurt.

"Ooh, that's going to leave a mark," said a slightly familiar voice.

Steven turned to find that the wizard was standing there, leaning a bit on her staff and evidently enjoying the show. He wondered how long she'd been there. Probably long enough to see him eat stone.

"What do you want?" he asked grumpily, not interested in being humiliated by her again.

"To apologize, first off," she replied.

Steven eyed her suspiciously, expecting her to laugh or try to Curse him again or something, but it seemed as if she were sincere.

"You see," she continued, "Cruelty is a trait of mine. I really don't like people, I find them insufferably annoying. And eventually all that anger just sort of... escapes. Since not many people visit The Tower, you were the first person I'd been able to vent on _all day_. I just couldn't help myself."

Steven wasn't sure he believed that trait business, as it sounded like a convenient excuse for being nasty to people. Besides, if it were really based in annoyance at people, why would the wizard need to vent if she hadn't seen anyone besides Steven that day? But it was beneath him to refuse a genuine apology.

"Yes, well... I can see how that would be a problem," he managed to say, "I'm Captain Steven."

"Oh, I already know who you are," she replied, "I did some scrying after you left and... well... your future doesn't look too bright without my help."

"I see," Steven said.

"So I came here to offer my aid in the upcoming tournament."

"Out of curiosity," Steven said, "Do you have a name?"

"Yes," she replied, "And, before you ask, no, I have no relation to the forest elves. Literally everyone I've met here has asked me that at least once. I'm from across the ocean."

"I... wasn't going to ask that," Steven said honestly, "You don't look like the forest elves."

"I wouldn't know," she said, "I haven't seen them."

"I have."

"So do you want my help or not?" she demanded.

"I prefer to know whose help I am receiving," Steven replied.

"My name is Amie. I am an Adept, if you know what that means, which I assume you do not."

"I don't," Steven admitted.

"Good," Amie said, "So do you want me to help or don't you?"

"Do you know how to play kingball?" Steven inquired.

"Heavens no!" Amie laughed, "But there is a spell for Endurance I could learn. Maybe with that you might stay on your feet long enough to learn how to win. But I don't want to waste my time learning a spell I'm not going to use, because time is a valuable thing."

"So I've heard," Steven sighed, then added, "Well, Lord Spaulding did command me to seek your aid in winning this tournament, and Freedonia's guardsmen could really use the fine armor and swords they make in Advorton."

"You want these idiots to be better armed?" Amie asked, waving her staff to indicate various nearby guards, "Because I shudder to think what they might do with the sharp objects they already have. I certainly don't want to see what will happen if they don't get tired after the first few strikes with a sword. Especially not before this backwards country gets a physician."

"Hey!" Rupert objected, but Steven held up a hand to stay him.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't insult my guards," Steven said in a low voice, "Or at _least_ not to their faces."

"And I would appreciate it if you stopped ducking my spells," Amie retorted, "But as far as I can see the only thing you _don't_ duck is a metal ball to the face."

Steven took a deep, calming breath, and tried to remind himself that he needed Adept Amie's help, and that she was cruel by nature, and that he would have to tolerate her as best he might.

He feared that might not be very well, all things considered.


	8. Chapter 8

With all the guests from foreign territories floating around the castle, meat stores were being severely cut into. Particularly due to the visiting dignitary from Gastrobury, who had a way of eating any scrap of food made available anywhere in the castle, as well as drinking one glass after another from a keg of ale until it was gone. So it was one of Steven's duties, in addition to preparing for the coming tournament, to go out hunting in the hopes of bringing in fresh meat.

Since Rupert had a shift guarding the entrance to the forest, he and Steven walked there together. Amie had disappeared almost the moment she finally made formal her agreement to help. Considering her rapid, violent mood shifts, Steven could not say he was sorry.

As they walked, conversation naturally fell to Rupert's favorite subject of them all: the lovely Minstrel Rhianwen, with whom he was desperately in love.

"I have written a poem to praise her beauty," Rupert announced.

"Oh?" Steven responded, not feeling at all optimistic about this.

"Since she performs them so often, I thought she might appreciate it if I wrote a poem for her," Rupert explained enthusiastically, "I call it, 'Ode to Rhianwen.'"

So far, Rupert had tried basically everything to woo the lady fair, except actually talk to her like a human. He had hung out in her tavern at all hours until Steven imposed a strict work schedule for all the guards under his command, so now Rupert had to restrain himself to his days off, and daily morning and evening jaunts to the tavern. Not long ago, Rupert had felt certain that increasing his fighting prowess would impress Rhianwen, but she had not seemed terribly impressed by his initiation of a bar brawl in her tavern. Now he'd found a new tactic, but Steven had serious doubts about it, the primary one being that he was reasonably sure Rupert couldn't find rhythm or rhyme if they sat in his lap and shouted 'Jehoshaphat'.

Rupert began to read,

 _Oh Rhianwen,_

 _with cinnamon skin and chocolate eyes, your gentle_

 _ways are sweeter than the taste of honey mead, and_

 _your beauty I could not compare to Hunter's Stew._

 _Your deep black hair flows like stewed fowl broth._

 _Oh Rhianwen,_

 _you are more delicate in your grace than a rabbit_

 _slowly being roasted by the turning of a spit, and_

 _much sadder I would be without you than without_

 _the goodness of apple and boar pie on my plate._

 _Oh Rhianwen,_

 _Your embrace I would choose over the hint of egg_

 _in Luffenting Wine, and your soft kiss is better than_

 _royal custard and spit roasted sweet bear combined,_

 _and your scent is more pungent than braised whale._

 _Oh Rhianwen-_

It was at this point that Steven interrupted, asking, "How many stanzas does this go on for?"

"Twelve," Rupert answered.

Steven's silence was apparently sufficient to make Rupert feel defensive, for he continued,

"Well I had to be sure and cover every delicious food and drink that exists. Otherwise she might think there was food or drink out there lovelier than she in my mind, and then she might be offended."

Steven scrambled for words, _any words,_ that did not include the phrase 'you are awful at poetry, please stop immediately and never mention this to anyone else.'

He finally managed a strained, "I'm just not sure the word 'pungent' is right for this... poem."

"Really? How else would you describe the smell of braised whale?" Rupert inquired.

Steven hesitated for a moment, then admitted, "Actually, I wouldn't."

"Why not?" Rupert demanded, his eyes widening, "There's nothing stronger smelling on a hot summer day than a big hunk of whale meat jammed onto a spike and hung over an open fire, or if there is I don't want to know what it is."

"But does Rhianwen _really_ smell comparable to a whale?" Steven asked as delicately as he could manage.

"No, that's the whole idea. The point is that she smells even better, and that I am more drawn to her than I am to the smell of whale meat cooking in town square," Rupert explained.

"I see," Steven said slowly, "But the word 'pungent' just doesn't seem like the best choice there. Maybe...aromatic... or uh... fragrant might even be better. But pungent just seems..." he trailed off, finding he was unable to express the thought without also hurting Rupert's sensitive feelings.

"You just don't get poetry, do you?" Rupert asked.

Steven sighed, "I guess I don't."

By this time they had reached the edge of the forest, so Steven bid his friend a polite goodbye, and headed out to look for something to hunt, trying desperately to forget the entire poem he had just heard. It wasn't as easy as he would have hoped, as the hunt proved to be uneventful, and also unsuccessful, and Steven returned home empty-handed.

He hoped Firefly would return with something more than bare bones clutched in his talons.

* * *

Steven went home, ate a meager dinner of seed soup, and went to bed and fell asleep. A bout of insomnia hit sometime after midnight, and he got out of bed to try and walk it off, only to become aware of the presence of someone else in the room.

A series of invectives escaped him and directed themselves at the intruder. At the same time, as if by magic, the fireplace and other light fixtures in the room roared to life and he could see who was there. A fresh batch of expletives found their way out into the night.

"Well aren't we foul mouthed?" said Adept Amie, leaning on her staff nonchalantly.

"You're in my house," Steven said, stringing together his first coherent sentence of the day.

"Of course I am," Amie replied, "What? You didn't expect me to cast spells on you from my tower, did you?"

"I didn't expect you here at this unreasonable hour," Steven corrected.

"And I didn't expect you to _wake up_ at this unreasonable hour," Amie told him, "If you didn't want anyone in here, you should have locked your door."

"It's _my_ bedroom," Steven objected, "I shouldn't have to tell-"

He broke off as the door swung open and Royal Adviser Greta walked in.

"I saw your light on, so I figured you were up," Greta said by way of announcing herself.

"Don't you ever sleep?" Steven asked.

"Never," Greta answered, then continued breezily, "We really must rally a defense against these cave crabs. We've got inventors in the castle proposing flying death machines, and some sort of thing that makes a big sound and kills everyone, and Lord Spaulding has decided that the correct way to provide defense for our fair country is to talk to the crabs! He's been corrupted by their crabby ways, and it's up to us to put a stop to this before Freedonia is overrun by the Crustacean Menace!"

"Crabs?!" Amie exclaimed derisively, "There is a literal war between territories on and we're trying to annex a territory -the first in Freedonian history aside from the annexation of Tredony and Crafthole at the founding of Freedonia, I might add- and you're worried about _cave crabs_!?"

Steven did not see this encounter ending well, and he wished it would end somewhere besides his bedroom, but he was wise enough to guess that a polite suggestion that they both leave would not be well received. Not sure what else to do, he stood by and watched.

"Annexation?" Greta cried indignantly, "There's no time for frivolous things like annexation with crabs running unchecked through our Cave! Besides, what use could we possibly have for all these territories anyway?"

"It's called a merchant," Amie replied with a critical gleam in her eyes behind the mask, "You might think about getting one to handle foreign trade."

"Oh, well don't you just know everything," Greta retorted snappishly, "I suppose next you'll be applying for the position of monarch!"

"Why not? It's plain I'm more qualified than the rest of you idiots," Amie shot back.

"Now wait just a minute," Steven objected, "That's my king you're talking about-"

He got no further, as the door flew open again, admitting Build Master Krispin.

"You really should get a lock for that thing," Amie whispered to Steven.

"Ah! Royal Adviser Greta!" Krispin's voice boomed through the space, "Just the woman I was looking for."

"Oh?" Greta dropped her voice and fluttered her eyelids ostentatiously, "Really?"

"Yes," Krispin said, "We need to discuss where to build the kingdom's new mill."

"Oh," Greta said, clearly disappointed, then changed her tone to a more seductive one, stepping close to the build master, "Wouldn't you rather... talk about _us_?"

"Geez, get a room," Amie muttered, tapping her staff on the floor impatiently, but Greta and Krispin ignored her.

"Not right now. There's this mill I need to design."

In the meantime, Firefly flew in through an open window with a majestic screech. He came at once to Steven's arm, and gifted his master with a rank smelling bag. Steven investigated this, and found a dead dire chinchilla inside.

"Where did you get this?" Steven asked of Firefly, who hissed and demanded his food reward.

As Steven was feeding the gyrfalcon, he noticed his door opening again, but at first he didn't see who had entered as they slipped stealthily behind Build Master Krispin. He realized that Greta and Krispin's conversation had continued while he was distracted by Firefly.

"How can you think about building at a time like this?" Greta demanded hotly, "When you and I... we... well... when there are caves full of crabs to be worrying about!"

"What about the crabs?" Krispin inquired.

Before Greta could answer, Lord Spaulding entered, looked around, and said, "Ah, Krispin! I was looking for you."

"Why is everyone looking for someone else in _my_ bedroom?" Steven wanted to know, but nobody paid any attention to him.

"I went into The Cave earlier today, and I saw an apparition," Lord Spaulding continued, still addressing Krispin.

"You mean the Crab Bandit?" Krispin asked.

"Oh, you mean he's real?" Lord Spaulding inquired.

"You saw him, didn't you? Crab claw? Big mustache..."

"Well, yes," Lord Spaulding answered, "But I thought maybe delusions were contagious."

"Speaking of contagious-" Greta began, but this time _she_ was interrupted by the door swinging open to admit two more people into the room.

"Lord Spaulding!" exclaimed one of them, whom Steven recognized as the foreign contact for Advorton, "This is Sir Geoffrey the Inebriated, finally arrived from Advorton by boat."

"Yes, ships are fast over the water, but you'd be amazed how long it takes to get them over land," Sir Geoffrey added.

"I bet I wouldn't," Lord Spaulding said, "You know, I have a son named Jeffrey, I wonder if you two could be related."

"I doubt that very much," the foreign contact said, "Anyway, sorry he got in so late, but since a party seems to be in progress here, it seemed only decent to bring our champion to meet yours."

"Please," Lord Spaulding gestured and scooted aside to let them in, "Come and join this game of sardines."

Steven's bedroom didn't have much in it aside from the obligatory bed, a fireplace, a chamber pot and a wash basin, but even so it really wasn't big enough for all these people.

No sooner had the Advortonians moved out of the doorway than someone else appeared.

"Rhona!" Lord Spaulding exclaimed.

"Yes, dear?" Rhona replied gently.

"Is it me you're looking for?" Lord Spaulding asked.

"No, actually I came to see Captain Steven."

"Oh, well carry on then," Lord Spaulding gestured, "I'm sure he's in here somewhere."

"You know, you should make people buy tickets to get into this place," Amie remarked to Steven, as they backed up against the wall so there'd be more space for people entering the room, "You'd make a fortune."

"Honestly, at this point, I just want to go back to bed," Steven said, "Oh, hello, Lady Rhona, I see you found the back of my bedroom alright."

"Yes," Rhona replied, "I came here to ask you something."

"Well you must be very determined to have gotten through that crowd," Amie observed.

"This is getting out of hand," Steven said with a sigh, then continued more politely, "What is it you wish of me, Lady Rhona?"

"I want my old job back," Rhona replied, "You have no idea how boring castle life is. I liked being a guard, and I miss that, and I want that back."

"Does your husband have any objections?" Steven asked cautiously.

"My husband doesn't own me," Rhona informed him, "Besides, he's much too busy running a kingdom to be bothered about what I choose to do with my days, so long as he gets to see me in the morning and at night. So do I get the job back or not?"

"I don't think I have the authority to- Hey!" as Steven was talking, a rather familiar looking strawberry blond woman dressed in black had sidled around the room and swiped his bag of dead chinchilla.

Steven wasn't deeply invested in that chinchilla, but he objected to having it stolen. Unfortunately, the room was absolutely packed with people. The blond slipped her way around and out through the door expertly, but Steven found himself unable to follow.

"Who was that?" Amie asked.

"Adora," Rhona answered, "The under-spy. I think your falcon may have taken her chinchilla, Captain."

"If only the rest of this crowd was so easy to get rid of," Amie said.

As the under-spy slipped out, Irving the Servant entered carrying a wine glass.

"Lord Spaulding, I've brought you your after midnight drink. Shall I bring a few rounds for your guests as well?"


	9. Chapter 9

By the time the room cleared out, going back to bed was completely out of the question. Aside from his morning routine of washing up in the basin next to his bed and going to the training yard for an hour's sword practice, Steven didn't have time to do anything before he was due at the kingball court. He didn't even have time to speak with Amie beforehand, and had to meet her there, blindly trusting that she knew what she was doing (something he found difficult to do after finding her lurking in his room like some kind of witch the night before).

Arriving at the court, Steven saw a lot of the people who'd been inhabiting his bedroom last night. In fact it seemed like, aside from Lord Spaulding, everyone who lived in, worked in or was visiting the castle had turned out for this. Certainly every visitor from Advorton had shown up. Tournaments were a big deal to them, and they were here to cheer on their champion.

Despite the man's title, Steven could not help but notice how sober and steady Sir Geoffrey the Inebriated looked. Nor could he fail to appreciate the fine craftsmanship of the paddle Advorton's champion was carrying. Looking at his own dingy paddle, Steven realized he should have gone to the village to see if he could find a better one, but it had completely slipped his mind.

Steven was unaware of Amie's presence until he felt a rush of wind spin around him, followed by a sort of tingling and a brilliant flash of light that momentarily engulfed him. Looking around, he spotted Amie leaning lightly on her staff at the sidelines. She waved in a cheerful way, but the look in her eyes behind the mask was unreadable. It concerned Steven that he didn't feel any different, and it concerned him even more that he wasn't clear on the rules of the sport he was about to play, but he was here now and it was much too late to back out, if indeed that had ever been an option.

In place of a trumpet (which Freedonia didn't have) the town crier and Minstrel Rhianwen had gotten together with their respective bell and lute, and composed a tune to signal the start of the match.

Sir Geoffrey, as the visitor to the court, got the honor of "making the first serve," a phrase Steven did not at all know the meaning of until the ball was flying towards his head.

For the next several hours, Steven knew nothing outside of trying not to get hit in the face by the ball as he had been yesterday, and endeavoring to keep it from hitting the ground. He understood nothing else of what he was trying to accomplish. Consequently, he gained a few faults for stepping "out of bounds," whatever _that_ meant. All that seemed to mean was that the ball was given to Sir Geoffrey, who then had a fresh opportunity to try and pitch the heavy ball of iron at Steven's head. Steven didn't know it, but he could have gotten into even more trouble by flinching and running from the ball, but his own dedication to the task at hand forbade such an act of self preservation.

Though truthfully Steven never did feel any different with regards to before and after Amie's spell was cast on him, he was aware that he was able to keep up effective defense with his paddle for much longer than he'd been able to when practicing yesterday.

Despite the profound handicap of not knowing what he was trying to do besides not get killed in a hideous ball-related accident, Steven managed to keep going strong longer than Sir Geoffrey, who began to tire and fumble the ball towards the end, resulting in Steven's being able to score enough points to win the game. Still, it felt a little wrong to him that he'd done so, knowing that he'd had a wizard's spell to keep him going until the very end.

Amie met him as he was coming off the court. Apparently she'd recently blown off steam at someone else, because she seemed quite happy when she addressed him.

"That was great, Steven!" she exclaimed, apparently genuinely, "Now here, take this for the drinking contest," she pressed a stoppered bottle of blue liquid into his hand, "I need to go prepare a spell for this evening's duel. It's supposed to be late so the booze can wear off, but you shouldn't have to deal with that problem."

"Why not?" Steven asked.

"Because the stuff in this bottle should keep you sober, and also stop you from getting sick after," Amie replied, in a tone that suggested she thought he should already know this, "Come on, even an amateur spell-caster knows about Drunk-Me-Not. That's, like, the first potion we learn how to make. Seriously, you've never heard of this stuff?"

"You're the kingdom's first wizard," Steven reminded her.

"So what do you do when you get sloshed?" Amie asked.

"Pass out on the floor, just like everyone else," Steven said, adding, "I don't really have a lot of time to waste drinking and being drunk any more."

"Whoa, then you're _really_ not conditioned for this, are you?"

"No," Steven answered.

"No wonder you were begging for my help," Amie said, "Anyway, I've got to go prepare that spell. See you at the training yard later."

"Sure," Steven said, not bothering to remind her that he had asked for her help specifically because Lord Spaulding had told him to, and he hadn't been begging.

He didn't have time to argue with her anyway, as the crowd was already migrating towards the tavern in response to Minstrel Rhianwen's musical summons to the next round of the tournament.

Not remotely sure when he was supposed to drink the potion, or if he was supposed to consume the whole thing, Steven put it in the bag with Firefly's meat snacks, and promptly forgot about it.

The tavern was absolutely packed, such that it was difficult for Steven and Sir Geoffrey to make it to the bar where they were to have their contest. A number of people at the bar were clearly not from the court, and had drunk more this morning than was healthy to consume in an entire day. A woman in a brown dressed was passed out on the floor beside a drink pitcher that had somehow missed being placed on one of the several tables in the tavern.

As they shouldered their way through, Steven and Sir Geoffrey had their first opportunity for a conversation. In the chaos of the morning, and the rush to get the kingball game underway, they'd had no time to talk other than to shake hands and come out fighting.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your victory at the kingball court," Sir Geoffrey said, "I must admit that I underestimated you. When you first stepped onto the court, I was sure you had no idea what you were doing. I anticipated an easy victory. I was wrong. I should have had more respect for Freedonia's champion."

"Don't mention it," Steven mumbled, feeling more guilty now than ever about his magically won victory, but not daring to say that Sir Geoffrey's assumption had been correct.

Steven knew that such a revelation would derail the entire tournament, and possibly ruin forever Freedonia's chances of annexing Advorton. Freedonia needed the territory of Advorton, and the fact that Advorton was willing to be annexed if they lost this tournament suggested that Advorton would benefit from the arrangement as well, and that this was just a matter of protecting their pride.

But that knowledge did little to make him feel better.

Once seated at the bar, each champion was presented with a pint of ale. It wasn't normally Steven's habit to chug a pint, but it was rapidly apparent that here was where Sir Geoffrey had earned the title of Inebriated, for the champion of Advorton tilted his head back and gulped down the pint in a matter of seconds. Steven knew he had to step up his game and slammed back his first drink, finishing when Sir Geoffrey was halfway through his second.

As soon as Steven put down his first pint, he was served a second, which he dutifully picked up and did his best to chug. Pretty soon he lost track of the cheering crowd, and also which pint Sir Geoffrey was on, entirely focused on trying to consume more alcohol in the next three hours than he had in the past year, and feeling progressively worse as the contest went on.

The guilt that had been gnawing at him really took hold now, making it harder to lift each pint. It also became a contest of getting the drink into his mouth before he could start blubbering and telling the whole story about the magic spell and the potion he was carrying even now (was he supposed to take it now, or after he was done? No time now, too many pints to drink).

Steven had no way of knowing how many pints he'd consumed before he finally reached out and found the bar empty. Dazedly, he looked around, and found Sir Geoffrey had passed out on the floor. The crowd cheering his victory battered at his senses. Stumbling to his feet, Steven tripped over his bar-stool, nearly fell, and staggered out of the tavern.

Once out of sight, Steven pulled out the Drunk-Me-Not, struggled with the stopper, managed to get it, and drank the entire potion in one go. He waited a few minutes, watching the world spin sickeningly around him, but he didn't feel any better.

This was bad.

Before his duel with Sir Geoffrey this evening, Steven had to head over to the castle and spend a couple of hours training Lord Spaulding in the finer points of swordsmanship. He couldn't just blow off his monarch, but just now Steven wasn't sure he could make it home without passing out.

He felt awful in every way possible, and could not imagine subjecting himself to this torment and misery on purpose recreationally. He wondered how much worse off he'd be without the potion. Since he'd done alright at the kingball court, he decided to trust that this potion of Amie's would start helping in short order, and he forced himself to move, meandering drunkenly back and forth across the uphill path to the castle, but managing to keep his feet nonetheless.

Lord Spaulding had not attended the kingball match, or the drinking contest, as he had deemed himself much too busy looking for a seller of mustache wax in the village. But Steven found Lord Spaulding in the study beside the throne room, writing a treaty of some kind.

Steven was grateful that he didn't have to talk just then, as Lord Spaulding already knew what he was here for. Lord Spaulding kept his personal training dummy upstairs, stairs which Steven had a great deal of trouble navigating today.

Later on, Steven would realize he had not taken in one single aspect of Lord Spaulding's quarters, nor did he remember any of the advice he'd given his monarch. What he did remember was propping himself against the wall, feeling more and more miserable and eventually nauseous, before finally throwing up on the floor (to his intense mortification), and reluctantly continuing the training session with Lord Spaulding after being assured that Irving would be delighted to finally have an actual dirty spot on the floor to clean, instead of just having to mop the floor for his own amusement.

After that, still feeling quite ill, Steven staggered home, fell into bed and took a much needed nap.

* * *

"What do you mean you drank the potion _after_?" Amie probably had a lovely singing voice, but she had also mastered the slightly ear-piercing shriek of rebuke, "It's a _preventative_ , stupid! You take it _before_ you get drunk, not try to get un-drunk _by drinking it_! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Besides the fact that I'm hungover?" Steven asked very quietly.

"Some champion you are," Amie continued, "You can't even cheat properly."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Steven observed.

"Have you seen yourself?" Amie retorted.

"I don't own a mirror," Steven replied slowly.

"You're a mess! You're in no shape for a duel. Even my help probably isn't enough to deal with this. Why couldn't you have just done the drinking contest properly?"

"You seem very invested in this," Steven said.

"Imagine how this will reflect on me!" Amie exclaimed.

"Your part in this won't be made public," Steven reminded her.

"A wizard's work seldom is. Nobody wants to admit they drank an elixir of allure right before they proposed or a luck potion right before they sat down to a card game. But people know if you're a good wizard or not, and if it gets around that my Drunk-Me-Not potion didn't work for you, that will seriously cut into my clientele, since half of them know they want it, and the other half figure it out after I've had a talk with them."

"They'll never hear anything from me," Steven promised.

"Oh? And how many people saw you drink that thing outside the tavern?" Amie asked.

"I didn't see anyone," Steven answered.

"You didn't see anyone," Amie spat mockingly, "You were so sloshed you wouldn't have seen a unicorn if it had jumped out of the bushes in front of you."

Steven knew this was probably correct, but he protested anyway, "Unicorns aren't real."

"As if you would know," Amie snapped, "You only patrol the forest three times a week. I, however, am the magic expert. If I say there are unicorns, _there are unicorns_."

"Could you try talking less loudly?" Steven asked, "Or... farther away from me?"

"Can't. My dinner is almost done cooking."

After a surprisingly successful hunt for a deer, followed by Firefly returning with fresh rabbit, Steven had been startled to find Amie waiting in his room again. Having realized that Amie couldn't hunt for herself, and didn't have a great deal of money to afford nice things, Steven had graciously offered her half of the meat he'd acquired. She took a piece of venison and the rabbit, the latter of which she was now stewing for her dinner in Steven's fireplace cauldron.

Amie had not exactly asked to use his cauldron, but had simply explained that she'd spent so much time that afternoon looking for sagewort to put in the potion that she hadn't had time to fish for her dinner. She had gone on to explain that her presence here the night before had been due to the fact that Steven's cauldron was so much nicer than hers, and so she'd decided to cook her dinner in it. When Steven woke up, the first excuse she'd thought of was the Endurance spell, even though she didn't need to cast it until right before the kingball match.

After that of course, things had gotten too out of hand for her to explain herself.

"It didn't occur to me that a knight could have insomnia," Amie said, walking out to the foyer where there was a stone bench to sit on with her bowl of soup.

Steven didn't have a table with chairs.

Reluctantly, Steven followed her. He didn't feel like eating just now.

"I suppose anyone could have it," Amie continued, "But I always had knights pegged more as the blood thirsty, drunken, gambler types," she sighed, "Then again, I guess most people think the worst thing about a wizard is that they're cowards or puny fighters, not that they'll suddenly say something and hurt your feelings," she paused, then softly added, "I _did_ hurt your feelings just now, didn't I?"

"I'll live," Steven assured her gently, content that Amie had at least lowered her voice a little.

"I really am awful," Amie told him, "I just... I see all these people, and they're so unbelievably _stupid_ , and then I just can't help myself. How do you tolerate them?"

Steven sighed, "With a great deal of patience."

"Funny, I don't see that as a personality trait of yours," Amie said.

"It's more of a hidden skill," Steven replied.

"Ah."

There were a few blessed moments of silence as Amie finished her soup. Then she started talking again. Not that Steven hated listening to people talk, but just now any noise was very unpleasant, something Amie no doubt knew, but wasn't thinking about.

"That really is a fantastic fireplace," Amie said, "You wouldn't believe the difference it makes."

"Actually it's a recent addition," Steven replied, happy to be on a more neutral subject, "I had to take a lot of the stuff in that room out to the village to sell it so I could afford the fireplace and bed."

"I'm guessing a good bed is important with your particular problem," Amie said, "We wizards don't use beds you know. We draw our energy from the magical essences which surround us through meditation. I'm told it looks very beautiful, but of course I don't have my eyes open when I meditate. I wonder how insomnia would affect meditation."

"At a guess, I would say badly," Steven ventured, "It's very disruptive."

"I suppose it must be," Amie said thoughtfully, "So much of your work depends on a healthy body, and that requires a good night's sleep. No pun intended."

"I hadn't really thought about it," Steven said, "It's a problem I've had for a long time."

"How very inconvenient for you," Amie said, apparently with genuine feeling.

Somewhat embarrassed to find Amie so concerned with his problems, Steven cleared his throat awkwardly, and changed the subject, "Yes... well, now you're done with your soup, we should probably go to the training yard, which is where we agreed to meet in the first place."

"That was before I heard you threw up in Lord Spaulding's quarters," Amie pointed out, "At which point it was obvious that something had gone extremely wrong."

"Yes, well..." Steven, flushing slightly at the reminder of his enormous error, looked for some way to steer the discussion away from that subject, as he didn't feel it needed to be rehashed, "I'll try to get it right this time, shall I?"

"You do that," Amie replied.


	10. Chapter 10

There were a lot of people out at the training yard, despite the fact that it was getting to be evening, and normally these people would have gone home to the village or wherever they resided. But it seemed everyone was eager to see the final round of this tournament.

Of all the things Steven had been asked to do today, this was the one he was most confident about. He'd done a lot of sparring even prior to becoming a knight, and since his appointment he'd seen off his fair share of challengers and troublemakers in duels. Thus he was a fairly decent fighter and knew it. The only trouble now was that he didn't feel terribly well.

His nap had helped somewhat, but he hadn't finished it, as Amie had come in and interrupted. Not only that, but her harsher words had a peculiar sting to them which Steven didn't entirely understand, this in addition to the fact that they had been too loud for his hungover mind.

Steven felt the spell hit. It felt like fire, but not unpleasantly for some reason. There was light, and again that tingling feeling. Steven did notice the difference this time, because it seemed like everyone was slightly slowed down. It was actually a little disorienting. He wished he'd been able to get out of having this second spell cast on him, not only because he didn't like having spells cast on him, or even because he didn't like the feeling of cheating, but also because this spell was actually throwing him off a little, which he really didn't need right now.

This was especially true since, in addition to the bed and fancy fireplace, Steven had gone to the village to find some nicer armor than the cheap chain-mail he'd brought with him when he became a knight. What he had now was much stouter stuff than the old chain-mail, but it was almost twice as heavy. Since the cast spell seemed to be making everything slower (or Steven faster), the extra not-quite-familiar weight made things worse, and he wished he'd kept his chain-mail so he could switch to that now. The sacrifice of weight for defense was one reason Freedonia needed access to Advorton's armor, which was a great deal lighter than what Steven was wearing now, but very nearly as strong.

Sir Geoffrey was, of course, outfitted in the traditional Advortonian Scale, and carrying its matching blade, a huge, funny looking scimitar, known for being extremely light and easy to use, allowing its wielder to strike faster and more precisely. Steven found himself wishing he'd bought a better sword instead of better armor, as the blade he had now was aggressively average in comparison to the Precision Scimitar Sir Geoffrey was carrying.

After each champion signaled his readiness to the other, the duel began. Steven was instantly aware of the fact that he was hopelessly outmatched, not because Sir Geoffrey was the superior fighter, but because Sir Geoffrey could move. Steven's own heavy armor slowed him down, even as the spell Amie had cast wreaked havoc on his perception, causing him to mistime the swing of his sword.

Steven had learned long ago the art of aiming for where his target was _going to be_ instead of where they were _currently_. Because his perception of time was screwed up, and his arm moved faster than it seemed like it ought to be moving, Steven missed Sir Geoffrey entirely. He missed several times, and found himself flashing back to the brief skirmish with Sir Stabsalot, only with reversed rolls.

But Sir Geoffrey did more than simply carry on when Steven missed. Sir Geoffrey, albeit in apparently slowed fashion, was flashing in and out and around. He was here, he was there, he was everywhere, he was nowhere in particular. The motion, and trying to track motion visually, made Steven's hangover worse and he began to feel dizzy and fatigued. In a smattering of seconds, Steven had been knocked down. In a few more, he was knocked down again. Each time he hit the ground, an explosion of air escaped him, and it took more effort to get up each time due to the heaviness of the armor he wore and his own increasing weariness.

Sir Geoffrey waited politely for Steven to get up, only to smash him right back down again. Finally, there came a time when he knocked down Steven with enough force that Steven was unable to rally in the allotted recovery time, giving Sir Geoffrey the victory.

Before the crowd could even start cheering, a voice rang out, "Best two out of three!"

Struggling to his feet, feeling extremely bruised, Steven looked around for the source of the cry. He found Amie standing there, holding her staff tightly. With a casual air that was quite forced, she strolled over to him, while the physician from Advorton went to Sir Geoffrey.

"It's only a scratch," Amie assured Steven, barely looking at him, "You can take him. Just... trying hitting him at least once. You'll find it easier to do after the first time."

"Thanks," Steven muttered sarcastically, "I'll do that."

Amie nodded, seemingly to herself, and strolled back to her place in the crowd.

Sir Geoffrey seemed more than ready to have another go at Steven. Gamely, but with diminishing confidence, Steven squared off to face Sir Geoffrey again.

For a moment, it seemed this duel would go better, as Steven's fatigue actually worked to his advantage. Sir Geoffrey expected him to move and went for an attack, which missed because Steven had not yet reached the point where Sir Geoffrey expected him to be. This left Sir Geoffrey himself open to attack. As he had done with Sir Stabsalot (albeit much more easily) Steven grabbed Sir Geoffrey by the arm, and used the man's own weight and momentum against him to throw Sir Geoffrey to the ground. Steven stepped back to give Sir Geoffrey a moment to recover.

But Sir Geoffrey was on his feet again almost immediately, and Steven knew from then on that the fight would not go his way this time either. In fact, it went worse than before. Sir Geoffrey not only managed to parry Steven's every thrust, but he overestimated Steven's ability to dodge (or perhaps Steven's armor's ability to protect him), and inflicted a serious wound when he slashed across Steven's midsection with his scimitar, which cut through the armor and found a home in Steven's body.

Steven continued to fight even after that, but it was this blow which ended his chance of victory. Sir Geoffrey had little trouble knocking him to the ground with enough force that Steven was unable to recover his wind quickly enough to get up. The second duel went to Sir Geoffrey.

Bleeding badly and feeling like he was about to die, Steven nonetheless dragged himself back to his feet, this time anticipating Amie's cry, "Three out of five!"

What he did not anticipate was Sir Geoffrey turning it down. He'd never heard of anyone from Advorton turning down the chance to fight, whether it was a duel or a brawl, regardless of whether or not there would be a fair contest between them and their opponent.

"I cannot accept those terms," Sir Geoffrey said, "For I fear I might slay your champion by mistake if I fought him again in his present state. However, I will offer this: because of the courage Captain Steven has shown here, and because he has won two parts of the tournament already, I shall return when he is well and his armor repaired or replaced, and I will fight him on even terms then."

That was all Steven heard, for he promptly fell over and passed out from blood loss.

* * *

Late that night, after the crowd had dispersed, and after Steven had picked himself up and dragged himself home to bed, Steven woke up to find that even a severe beating was not enough to cure him of insomnia. Disgruntled, tired and in pain, he hobbled over to the fireplace, made himself something to eat and went into the foyer. It occurred to him that having a table and chair in his room would not be amiss, though he wasn't quite sure how to fit them in there properly.

Besides which, what he really wanted right now was a bathtub to soak in. That would feel good right about now. But he'd have to look into that door lock Amie had talked about, because he really didn't want to find himself trying to relax in a tub next time there was an unscheduled party in his room. In fact, he didn't really want another unscheduled party in his room, with or without the tub.

Seeing the door to the barracks opening, Steven tensed involuntarily. It didn't particularly surprise him to see Amie, who he was beginning to think never slept.

"You really do have a problem, don't you?" she observed as she entered.

She seemed to be in one of her gentler moods, but Steven didn't trust that, and he wasn't sure that he didn't prefer her when she was hostile, because at least then she wasn't trying to offer sympathy, which only made Steven feel self-conscious and embarrassed.

Frustrated at the day's losses, and his inability to sleep, Steven spoke before he could stop himself, snapping sourly, "Don't you think you've done enough?"

"Me?" she blinked, then scowled and her voice turned nasty, "I didn't do anything wrong today. _My_ spells worked, and so did that potion. _I_ did my job. And _I_ tried to make sure you got a another shot at doing yours after you screwed it up the first time _and_ the second. You're welcome by the way."

"Your spell threw me off," Steven said, "That's why I couldn't hit anything."

"You sure it wasn't your armor?" Amie shot back, "No joke, that suit looks big enough to make into a whaling boat. You didn't tell me you were wearing Goliath's armor to fight. I might have researched a spell for strength or balance or something, because speed was _not_ your problem."

"You never asked me if I even needed a spell to help me in the last round of the tournament," Steven pointed out, "You just went and cast it."

"What was I supposed to think? You can't play kingball, you don't know how to drink properly, how was I supposed to know you could swing a sword without somebody to hold it for you?" Amie demanded, "Look, you asked for my help, and I gave it to you. I only just came to Freedonia a couple of days ago, and suddenly I've got some stranger knocking on my door and asking me to engage in a shady government takeover. But did I kick up a fuss?"

"Yes!" Steven reminded her, "You tried to curse me."

"And did you let me do that?"

"Of course not!" Steven snapped irritably, then flinched as his exuberant remark disturbed the wound to his midsection.

"And yet I got over that, didn't I? I even apologized," Amie said.

Annoyed, and realizing that sensible argument would not get him anywhere, Steven tried a new tactic, "What did you come here for? It's the middle of the night."

"I finished my meditating early," Amie replied, "So I figured I'd go to the village and look for a better staff," she shook the staff she held, "This one tends to backfire. Anyway, I decided to stop by and ask if you wanted anything."

Talking to this woman was like talking to an uncouth person who told a good joke and then in the next breath said something appalling. Steven felt like he was going on an adventure every time he spoke to Adept Amie, and he was not in the least adventurous by nature. The sudden reversals of apparent mood and intent were enough to make one feel dizzy, especially if they were already suffering a massive laceration and acute inability to sleep. Steven was annoyed with Amie, embarrassed by her needling him for his weakness and incompetency, but at the same time he was touched that she had this apparent concern for him. It was incredibly confusing.

When Steven remained silent, Amie seemed to take it that he was having trouble thinking (he was), and she began to offer suggestions, "I don't have a lot of money, but I'm sure I could get you some cabbages and mushrooms to go with your bear meat and the frankly ridiculous amount of potatoes you seem to have. Or maybe a book of ale recipes?"

"No thank you," Steven said flatly, "If I never see a pint of ale again, it will be too soon."

"Fair," Amie acknowledged, "But you did give me that lovely venison and rabbit meat, and I feel like I should get you something to pay you back."

"That was a gift, not a trade," Steven replied, "I had meat to spare. Since you can't hunt in the forest and I didn't think you had much money, I figured you could use some meat. You don't owe me anything for that."

At this, Amie cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. It was as if it had never occurred to her that someone could do something nice without expecting her to do something nice back.

Finally, she said, "You're a strange man, Captain Steven."

"And a tired one," Steven sighed wearily, "So you should go do your shopping, and I should go back to bed."

With a shrug, Amie turned and left without another word.

* * *

Steven was relieved the next morning to find that the day's tasks were relatively easy, physically speaking. Mentally they would be more taxing, as one of them involved strategizing with Greta because she and Krispin were apparently not on speaking terms right now.

But first he decided to go to the training yard. He was regretting scheduling a combat training exercise for his guards, but it was too late to back out now. The training yard had never seemed so far away as it did this morning as he limped slowly in the direction of the scene of yesterday's humiliating defeat. Even though he was late, Steven found his guards were there, already practicing under the rather inept instruction of Rupert, who seemed relieved to see Steven coming to take over.

It kind of surprised him that his loss the day before had not done anything to reduce the respect his guards showed him. He supposed that, even if he seemingly wasn't as good as Sir Geoffrey, they still knew well enough that he was much more skilled as a fighter than any of them.

If nothing else, he was well capable of thrashing the lot of them if he got any backtalk, which was something he'd demonstrated early in his career when the guards bucked the schedule he imposed. Before Steven had been appointed as Freedonia's knight, the guards had done basically whatever pleased them. Security had consequently been extremely lax, and most of the guards had resented the change in leadership, and having to actually work for their pay.

These days it was taken as wrote that some number of guards would be posted near the forest, along the route to the village and in the castle itself every day and at night to deal with any bandits or assassins who might try to set up shop around the kingdom.

It was rapidly apparent that the training session was the least of Rupert's concerns, as he set up the other guards to spar with each other and then drew Steven aside, ostensibly to ask for a few tips. But really he had something else on his mind entirely.

"I tried reading my poem to Rhianwen after you won the drinking contest yesterday -congratulations by the way- and now she won't even speak to me!"

Steven did not find this at all surprising. Normally, he would simply have tried to comfort his friend, and let Rupert recover from his rejection in the usual fashion. But just now he was in a lot of pain, and still stinging from his double loss in dueling yesterday, he was out here for a training session, and all he really wanted was to go back to lying on his bed. And he had a "strategy" session with Greta to look forward to as well. He was in no mood to be tactful.

"Look," Steven snapped, causing a startled expression to manifest on Rupert's face, "Your elaborate schemes have _never_ worked. So I have an idea. Why don't you guard the path to the village? Rhianwen has to go to the village to sell her poems and plays, right? So protect her from bandits, and maybe try a little casual conversation for once in your life."

Rupert blinked at him silently, as if this was too novel an idea to comprehend.

"Consider yourself assigned to guarding the village road duty for the next week," Steven said, "If you can't get on good terms with Rhianwen in that time, I suggest you give up and find a more viable target. Because this has _got_ to stop, Rupert. It's not good for you, and it's not good for her, and quite honestly I'm extremely tired of hearing about it."

Even as he was talking, Steven realized that this must be how Amie felt talking to people all the time. He worried that she might be rubbing off on him, and wished he could take back what he'd just said, as a slightly pained, then rather angry look came into Rupert's eyes.

"Well, if you feel that way about it, why didn't you just say so?" Rupert demanded.

Steven sighed quietly, and answered, "Because... usually I'm a better friend than that."

Rupert looked angry for a moment longer, then it seemed to finally reach his brain that Steven had been seriously injured yesterday, in addition to losing the fight, and potentially ruining Freedonia's attempt to annex Advorton. It was a lot to take, more than Steven was used to. And perhaps Rupert remembered all those times he'd vented his frustration at failing to secure Rhianwen's affection on Steven, as well as letting off steam about the difficulties of becoming a guard.

"Alright, Steven," Rupert said kindly, "We'll try it your way. But I don't see how it'll work."

The rest of the training session was uneventful, to Steven's immense relief.

The uphill return to the castle was more difficult than the downhill slope to the training yard, but it was not quite as painful as it had been yesterday. That is, until Steven remembered that his current duty was to tolerate Royal Adviser Greta for probably an hour. Officially he only had to strategize with her for thirty minutes, but with Greta, it was really until she was finished.

"Ah, Captain Steven," Greta greeted him when he arrived at the study next to the throne room, "Get in here and close the door."

Steven hesitated, looking at the broad archway leading from one room to the other.

There wasn't any door to close. In fact, there wasn't even a curtain to be drawn. It was just as well. The study was already quite cramped with the walnut strategy table, matching scribe table, several full-size Freedonian flags decorating the walls, and a perilously hanging chandelier, without also having extra curtains or a swinging door to worry about.

When Steven stepped into the room, Greta continued, "Since it's Tuesday, you play the enemy pieces and I play with the Freedonian pieces."

"It isn't Tuesday," Steven pointed out.

"Oh. Well then. You play the enemy pieces and I play the Freedonian pieces."


	11. Chapter 11

Back at home again, Steven was not surprised to find Amie waiting for him. He was starting to get used to her showing up in his house uninvited and unannounced.

"You really should lock your door," Amie said by way of greeting.

"Hold that thought," Steven replied, and went over to the fireplace.

Steven threw the last of his venison in the cauldron, realizing unhappily that he'd need to do some hunting or fishing or something fairly soon, or else he'd be eating gruel again, something he'd sworn to himself that he would never do.

After spending so much time at the training yard, and then with Greta at the strategy table, Steven found his snack from the night before was history and he was well and truly hungry. Until he had a bowl of something to eat, he didn't have much interest in whatever Amie wanted now.

"Look, stupid, I'm just trying to say that I'm sorry," Amie said impatiently, "You got hurt because of me. Even though my spell _worked fine_ , by the way. But I still feel kind of responsible, especially since I'm the one that set you up for a second fight after you lost the first time."

"Thanks for reminding me," Steven grumbled sarcastically.

"Here," Amie said, and held out a box to Steven.

Steven took it somewhat skeptically, turned it over, then looked at her questioningly.

"Healing salve," Amie said, "Should help a little. The stuff in the village isn't great, but it was the best I could do. Probably the best I could afford anyway, since I got this cool staff too."

She shook her new staff, which was an elaborate piece made of some kind of red wood and what looked like gold. The top of the staff had a gold eye with a spike on top, which was a little disconcerting. It looked almost more like a religious artifact than a magic one.

"More power," Amie explained, "Better chance of success at spell-casting."

"I see," Steven said, even though he didn't.

In his limited experience, Amie's spells had worked just fine, albeit not necessarily for the best where he was concerned. He just hoped this didn't mean she would succeed next time she tried to Curse him, which he assumed she would do at some point.

"So take the salve," Amie said, "And stick it on yourself, and... I dunno, maybe you'll feel better? I'm not a physician, I can't give you medical advice."

"But you can give me this box of goo," Steven said.

"I can give you that box of goo," Amie confirmed with a nod.

"Thanks," Steven said, "I think."

"Okay, now I've done that," Amie said, clearing her throat, "I'm off. I've got to go steal someone's spirit and do some scrying to see who needs to be Cursed."

"'Needs' to be Cursed?" Steven repeated questioningly.

"It's a wartime thing. Don't worry about it," Amie replied with a dismissive wave.

Steven felt like maybe it was something he should be worried about, but right now he just didn't have it in him, so he let the matter drop and watched Amie leave without protest. It wasn't as if he could have stopped her. Not in his present condition anyway.

In fact, right now there was very little he could do besides eat and sleep. That and visit the parlor in the main part of the castle. Rather than risk money on cards however, Steven opted to sit and read. There were a lot of books in the castle library, and Steven hadn't read any of them.

So he first sent out Firefly to hunt, and then settled on the couch to read.

* * *

For the next few days, reading filled the main portion of his time when he wasn't eating or sleeping or fulfilling his duties as knight. Passively, he watched over the top of whatever book he was in the middle of, observing as things in the castle heated up in more ways than one.

It seemed that Lord Spaulding was frantically trying to make the best mustache wax ever for some reason, and mostly ignoring the fact that his wife, Rhona, had gone back to wearing her guard uniform around the castle, even though she followed him from room to room as if trying to make some kind of statement without actually saying anything. In the meantime, Greta continued to make unwanted overtures to Krispin, who became increasingly hostile in his rejections.

Periodically Lord Spaulding would abandon his mustache wax efforts, and go write a new law, or perhaps issue a new edict. He'd learned how to get votes to go his way. Guaranteed Greta and Krispin would vote for different edicts, so if Lord Spaulding wrote in a downside to whatever edict one of them supported at the start, they would automatically switch over to the one he wanted to pass so as to avoid supporting the edict the other of them was voting for while also avoiding the downside to the edict they had originally been in support of.

Maybe it was crooked, but refusing to vote for an edict just because you were mad at someone wasn't terribly straight edged either, so far as Steven saw it.

Steven saw nothing of Amie during this time, and very little of Rupert. It was a little bit lonely, but he rapidly discovered that Firefly was a great companion. Firefly the Falcon didn't talk much, but he did bring something to the relationship (specifically rabbits, pigeons, a variety of fish and the occasional dead parrot), and he didn't ask for much except his daily share of meat. In comparison to everyone else Steven had to deal with, Firefly's demands were ridiculously simple.

One day Firefly brought back a strange tooth. Not sure what it was, Steven looked through one of the castle books, which was about identifying animals by their teeth. He flipped through and found a sketch matching the tooth Firefly had returned with. It was the tooth of a dragon.

"Where did you get this?" Steven asked, but of course Firefly said nothing.

Right after he made the inquiry of the reticent falcon, Steven got a strange feeling of deja vu, for Adora the Under-spy appeared in the throne room, pretending not to be looking for Firefly. Steven tried to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn't take anything off him this time, but when he got home that evening he found that his dragon tooth had been pilfered when he wasn't looking.

"Someday, Firefly, I need to have a talk with that lady," Steven told the falcon.

Firefly's response was merely to flap his wings a bit. He wasn't terribly interested in what happened to his trophies after he had delivered them into his master's hands.

* * *

Eventually, Steven was well enough to fight again. He had replaced the heavy plate armor with some bearhide. It didn't provide much protection, but it was much lighter. He was prepared to decline Amie's spell, but she was nowhere to be found that morning. Steven couldn't really blame her. Having seen him fight and lose twice already, he couldn't imagine that she was eager to watch him fail again.

Steven had been willing to go three out of five, as Amie had tried to set up, but Sir Geoffrey insisted that this would be a fresh start, previous losses in dueling didn't count. It was a less than subtle hint that Advorton didn't _want_ to win this tournament. In fact, the only thing standing in the way of their losing and being annexed into Freedonia was the honor of their champion, who could not help but fight with his all, as anything else would be dishonest.

It gave Steven a lot of mixed feelings. He felt that he himself had made a mistake in being dishonorable to start with. But the fact remained that he had soundly lost anyway. And the reality that neither Freedonia nor Advorton herself actually _wanted_ Sir Geoffrey to win was one that couldn't be easily ignored. Officially this was a tournament held in the name of sport, but unofficially Advorton was in trouble and needed Freedonia's help, and this was the best way to get it without also sacrificing their pride in the process. It was ridiculous, of course, but that was politics, or so Steven had been told.

The bottom line for Steven was that he was here now, assigned to accomplish this task.

"Are you sure you have the correct armor for the occasion?" Sir Geoffrey inquired, "If I hit you, I will probably do more damage to you than I did last time. Possibly I will kill you."

"The key word, Sir Geoffrey, is 'if,'" Steven replied, adding with a grin, "It is not my intention to let you hit me."

"Very well," Sir Geoffrey shrugged, "Do as you will."

Despite his misgivings, Steven felt much better today than he had since before the tournament began. This time he intended to do things properly, both honestly and capably. He'd fought Sir Geoffrey twice now. The man was a decent fighter, but Steven was confident that he was better. With new light armor, he wouldn't suffer as much fatigue as he had before, and he would be able to move more ably. Sir Geoffrey still had the superior weapon, but that only counted if he actually connected. As Steven had told his opponent, he had no intention of allowing that.

Besides Amie, the only person missing from the crowd was Lord Spaulding, who had said he had terribly important diplomatic business to attend to. According to Greta, he'd last been seen entering The Cave, and she said she doubted he'd ever be heard from again.

Greta herself was in the crowd, determinedly chasing Krispin around and trying to hug him. Minstrel Rhianwen had turned out again with the town crier (a new one Steven didn't recognize, meaning another crier had probably been fed to The Beast recently) to provide musical accompaniment, and of course Rupert was there "for security purposes." Rhona was also present, determinedly dressed as a guard, her son, Prince Jeffrey was playing with another youngster, the two children with their wooden swords mimicking the moves they'd seen the guards practice in the yard.

There was an air of frivolity about that belied the seriousness of what they were here to do.

After politely waiting for the young prince and his opponent to fight their way over to the far side of the yard, Steven and Sir Geoffrey turned to face one another.

Steven was inexpressibly relieved to see Sir Geoffrey seeming to move in a normal way, and even more relieved to find that his own limbs responded to his commands as he anticipated.

Though normally Steven would not mind closing with an opponent, he knew that with Sir Geoffrey it would be a deadly mistake, so he kept his opponent at arm's length. Sir Geoffrey kept trying to move in close, but Steven circled and maneuvered so that he was always beyond reach. He would stand for a moment as if he was going to allow Sir Geoffrey to close, then with a lightning quick dodge he would move around Sir Geoffrey and out of range without leaving the unmarked fighting arena.

With his weaker armor, Steven knew he needed to pay particular attention to making sure Sir Geoffrey never got a lick in. That meant he passed up several opportunities to strike his opponent, much to the annoyance of the crowd, which booed noisily. But Steven didn't listen to them. After all, they weren't the ones doing the fighting. The majority of them didn't even own swords.

For a time, it was less a fight and more a dance, as Sir Geoffrey continually tried to close so he could use his scimitar, and Steven continually refused to let him do so. Finally, Steven saw the chance he'd been looking for. Instead of dodging, as Sir Geoffrey by now expected, Steven feinted to the side. Sir Geoffrey moved to compensate, leaving his weapon arm open. Steven grabbed this arm and twisted it, bringing Sir Geoffrey in close and throwing off his balance. Neatly, Steven smashed the hilt of his sword against the back of Sir Geoffrey's helmet, then let his opponent fall.

It was the beginning of the end for Sir Geoffrey, who from that point on was off his game. As Amie had said back during the first round of dueling, hitting Sir Geoffrey once made each subsequent hit easier, as the champion of Advorton became progressively more weary and dazed. The first strike was the one that ultimately won the fight, though it took Steven several more such maneuvers before Sir Geoffrey finally surrendered.

Impressively, it seemed that the Advortonians didn't really care who won, they just cheered for a good show regardless. Or perhaps they loved an underdog, and Steven had taken two severe losses and managed to turn them to a victory at the last second. In either case, the response from the crowd to Steven's victory was deafening and not a bit overwhelming.

* * *

Lord Spaulding was wearing a mustache. To clarify, he was wearing a mustache _on_ his mustache. He refused to explain why he was doing this, or where the mustache had come from, saying only that Freedonia had never been in safer pincers. Nobody understood what he meant by that.

There was a a celebration on in response to Freedonia's new relationship with Advorton, or perhaps it was a party thrown for the champion of Freedonia in honor of his hard-earned victory. Or maybe they were celebrating about crabs for some reason. Anyway, there was a man in his underwear dancing in front of Minstrel Rhianwen for _some_ reason.

Guard Rhona had used the occasion to formally demand her posting back. Lord Spaulding had said nothing, but nodded approvingly, wearing the mysterious mustache. Steven felt he had no choice but to formally reinstate Rhona as a guard, not that he had really objected in the first place. The man in his underwear danced.

There was a keg of ale which Irving the Servant refilled several times over the course of the evening, but Steven refused to get anywhere near it. Sir Geoffrey the Inebriated lived up to his title, drinking heartily and then singing lustily out of tune with the song Minstrel Rhianwen was playing at the time. The man in his underwear danced.

Adora the under-spy slipped delicately in and around the crowd, neatly pilfering bits of this and that off the persons of Freedonians and Advortonians alike. Greta cornered Krispin in the study and gave him a smooch that caused his face to go beet red, though whether from anger or embarrassment nobody could say. The man in his underwear danced.

Gradually, as the party was on its second or third keg, Steven became aware of a certain absence in the crowd. Adept Amie had not shown up to the party.

Concerned for her, wondering if maybe she was in trouble somehow, Steven slipped out of the castle and went in search of Freedonia's wizard.

He found Amie at home, on the third floor of her tower, pouring over her archives.

"You didn't come to the party," Steven remarked, looking around the quite bare interior of the room in which Amie was working.

Amie looked up from her reading and replied, "I didn't think I'd be wanted. As you said, my part in this is unknown, and will stay that way. And anyway, it's partially my fault you got hurt the first time. If not for my interference, you would probably have won."

"If not for you, I would have been finished before the end of the kingball match," Steven pointed out reasonably, "And so what if you don't get the credit? Adora's there and the only thing she's done in the last week is steal a dead chinchilla in a bag and a dragon's tooth. You can't tell me she deserves to be at the party if you don't."

"People _like_ Adora," Amie said, "She's nice to them. Or she pretends to be anyway."

"So?" Steven asked.

"So," Amie replied, " _She_ was invited. I wasn't."

"Well," Steven said, thinking that over for a moment, "The party seems to be partially in my honor. Therefore, I think I have the right to invite a friend to join me."

"Friend?" Amie inquired with a crooked smile.

"You're the only person who brought me anything when I was hurt," Steven told her, "If that isn't what a friend does, I don't know what is. So... will you attend this raucous party with me? There's a half naked man dancing there, and another one singing out of tune."

"Sounds unmissable," Amie said with some sarcasm, but Steven was quite certain there was gratitude in her eyes behind the mask.

Steven held out his arm and, after Amie took it, he escorted her back to the reception hall, where the party was still going quite strongly.

"Steven!" Rupert, clearly a few mugs into becoming sloshed, staggered over and clapped a hand on Steven's shoulder, "I've been looking for you all-" he broke off and apologized to Amie, "-Excuse me-" he returned his attention to Steven, "-I've been looking for you all evening."

"I only left five minutes ago," Steven said.

"Then I haven't been looking in the... the right places," Rupert slurred, "Anyway, anyway... that doesn't matter. What matters is that I tell you."

"Tell me what?" Steven asked.

"You were right."

"About?" Steven persisted, and Amie looked on with amusement.

"About the village path," Rupert replied, "It worked! Rhianwen's doing this thing, becoming a great playwright, and apparently that involves a lot of kissing and-" he broke off giggling.

Steven and Amie exchanged looks, saying nothing.

"Anyway, anyway... anyway... now we're engaged to be married!"

"If that doesn't call for a drink," Amie declared dryly, "I don't know what does. Excuse me, Captain Steven, I'll be back in a moment."

"You know," Rupert said, leaning quite heavily on Steven, " _You_ should get married. Have... have little..." Rupert held out his hand to indicate how little, "Little... uh... small humans."

"Where would I put children?" Steven asked incredulously, "Have you seen my room?"

Rupert looked at him a bit queerly then, but whatever he might have said next no one would ever know, for he suddenly pitched forward and passed out drunk.

Amie returned with her drink, stepping lightly over Rupert's inert form.

"So, when's the wedding?" she asked politely.

Steven stared at her for a moment, slightly stunned, then he blinked, realizing where the conversation had been when she left, "Oh... uh... he didn't say."

"Well," Amie said, sipping her drink and looking over Rupert at where Rhianwen was playing some particularly raunchy number, "I'm sure they'll be very happy together."

"I hope so," Steven replied, "They're good people."

Amie nodded, seemingly to herself, and was quiet a moment.

Then she looked at Steven and said, "You know you have a second floor, right?"

Unable to figure out how to react, Steven simply stared at her blankly, while Rhianwen continued to play her lute, and gentle snoring began to come from Rupert.

And the man in his underwear danced.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 3 – The Belly of the Beast**

 _"Everything is more than it seems, but nothing is as mysterious as it appears to be."_  
 ** _-Dean Koontz (Tick Tock)_**

* * *

Freedonia was coming into her own as a kingdom. Her wealth and consequential influence could no longer be discounted and, since the annexation of the territory of Advorton some time ago, it had become clear that militarily she had become a force to be reckoned with.

No one could now mock her guards for being lazy or incompetent, and you could hardly walk down any given road without coming across at least one blue and white uniform with its underlying armor (most often Advortonian Scale), or even the generically handsome knight captain himself, Steven Westmoreland.

Freedonia was known at this time primarily for her security. Territory leaders often met for conferences in Freedonia because they had assurance that they would be well protected. In addition to her military might, Freedonia also remained stubbornly neutral in the Tredony-Aarbyville conflict, to such a degree that she entertained soldiers from both sides when they were on leave, her guardsmen ensuring that either the Tredony Consortium and Aarbyville Pirates never met, or at least never escalated their violence above bar brawling.

This last was accomplished as much by threats as guard presence. Freedonia was well known for having a Pit, into which war criminals and annoying town criers were often thrown. In fact, both Tredony and Aarbyville sent their prisoners to Freedonia to be executed, knowing that any escape or rescue attempts would be thwarted by the knight and his guards, who took their jobs quite seriously these days. Gone were the days of guards being found drinking in the tavern during their work-shift. Bandits were an extinct species in Freedonia, both along the village path and in the forest.

What Freedonia was _not_ known for was her educational system or healthcare. She had no physician, and it turned out that the recently constructed water mill was no substitute. The knowledge of her people could most politely be described as 'limited.' Despite the attempts of her surprisingly scholarly and beloved ruler, Lord Spaulding, almost none of the citizens ever bothered to read a book or do research of any kind.

Neither the kingdom's new merchant nor her new blacksmith seemed to have the foggiest idea as to how to do their jobs. Like most significant postings in Freedonia, these two had been hired practically out of the blue, the merchant because she liked the ocean -despite a peculiar animosity towards whales- and that seemed useful for someone who was going to spend a lot of time on boats traveling from place to place for trading, and the blacksmith because he could wield a pickaxe reasonably effectively and seemed generally excited about the job.

Despite her not inconsiderable wealth, Freedonia's monarch was ever looking for ways to cut costs, as well as ways to increase the kingdom's monetary gains from any and all endeavors.

Consequently, Lord Spaulding decided to call a meeting which consisted of himself, Royal Adviser Greta, Build Master Krispin and Captain Steven, as he contemplated the kingdom's next significant move in the world.

"We should build more things," was Krispin's suggestion, "There are lots of flat places that don't have buildings in them. We could... put buildings there."

"Too expensive," Lord Spaulding declared.

"We should invade Aarbyville," Greta suggested.

"Why?" Steven asked, never especially interested in risking his people if he didn't have to, and even less interested in ticking off the pirates of Aarbyville.

"We take over their territory and tell them they can keep doing their thing, so long as we get a share of the profits," Greta explained.

"I like it," Krispin said, nodding approvingly, "More money means more funds to build things."

"But that's blood money," Steven protested, "They're rich because they raid vessels on the ocean. Including ours, if they think they can get away with it."

"Hmm... taking over one of the territories involved in this war might hamper our ability to remain neutral," Lord Spaulding said, "Let's table that for later," he seemed thoughtful for a moment, then said, "You know what, I'm sick of tables. We have enough tables around here. So let's chair that for later."

"Yes, My Lord," Greta said grudgingly.

There was silence for a moment, then Lord Spaulding turned to Steven, "What about you? Do you have any bright ideas? Or even any dim ones? What about those ones that sort of flicker a bit before they go out?"

"Uh..." Steven cleared his throat, "What about... Burdley, Sire?"

"What about Burdley?" Lord Spaulding asked.

"I have heard they are extremely skilled builders," Steven said, a cautious eye on Krispin as he said this, "It's possible that we could learn a cheaper, better way of building with their aid," as Krispin's eyes narrowed, Steven hurried on, "And... _and_... Shopkeeper Eloise says that they export some very good medical supplies."

"Shopkeeper Eloise can barely get in enough local goods to open her shop every day," Greta spat, "How could she possibly know what Burdley has to offer?"

"Clearly someone needs to go to Burdley and ask them what they have to offer," Lord Spaulding said.

"I think Shopkeeper Eloise has already been to Burdley," Steven ventured.

"I'm glad you're so eager to go," Lord Spaulding said.

"Him? You can't send _him_!" Greta objected.

"You're right," Lord Spaulding said, "This place would fall apart without the Captain keeping the guards and tourists in line."

"That's not what I meant!" Greta snapped, "As evidenced by his continual losses at the strategy table, Steven is the worst strategist this country has ever seen. He'd be sure to screw up any diplomatic talks or negotiations of any kind inside of a day."

Steven did not point out that he lost at the strategy table primarily because Greta kept changing the rules on him, and that moving pieces around a board in a way that caused victory was hardly the same as being able to talk to people in a way that didn't offend them.

"I'm so glad you're volunteering for this," Lord Spaulding said.

"What? I didn't-" Greta began, but Lord Spaulding interrupted.

"Just think of it as an unpaid vacation."

"But I-" Greta protested, but Lord Spaulding simply talked over her.

"By the way, I found this while I was out digging near The Pit, and I don't have any real use for it," Lord Spaulding said, and held out a sword to Steven, "So I want you to hang onto it until I do."

The sharp-edged sword looked like it was made out of gold, but it certainly didn't feel that way. For one thing, it was much too light. For another, it vaguely reminded Steven of the dragon's tooth that his gyrfalcon, Firefly, had once brought, though he wasn't sure why. Etched into its hilt was a name: Frostfang.

"How come he always gets the cool stuff?" Greta complained.

"Because neither of us would know what to do with a falcon, much less a sword," Krispin replied.

"I shall..." Steven stumbled over the sentence, a bit overwhelmed by the obvious value of such an item, "... ensure that it is kept safe until such time as you wish it returned to you, My Lord."

"You do that," Lord Spaulding said, then added by way of dismissal, "And give Firefly a pat for me, will you?"

"Yes, My Lord."

Greta sighed irritably, "Fine. I'll go. But don't destroy the kingdom while I'm gone."

* * *

"I don't get it; what are we looking at?" Guard Rupert asked.

Steven sighed, "This is a map of the area. Here, this is the coast, where we are. Next to us are Tredony and Crafthole," Steven pointed to the corresponding portions of the map as he named them, "Advorton's way over here in the corner. And down here, the furthest south along the coastline, that's Aarbyville."

"You learned to read maps from Greta?" Rupert asked in surprise.

"No, in spite of her," Steven replied.

Rupert was silent a moment, then said, "Impressive as that is, I don't get why you called me for this clandestine meeting in the barracks."

"It's not-" Steven shook his head, "-Never mind. Look, there's a lot of ways this war between Tredony and Aarbyville could go, but even if we stay neutral, it's clear that we cannot consider ourselves uninvolved. Even now, both sides are flooding our land with their criminals to execute. Executioner Bailiff has all he can do just to take them to The Pit one by one. And the numbers are growing. These territories are starting to apply pressure from both sides, because we are directly in their way. It's not my job to tell Lord Spaulding which side we should choose, or what we should do, but it _is_ my job to make sure that his army is prepared."

"For what?" Rupert wanted to know.

"For war," Steven answered flatly.

"But if we just stay neutral-" Rupert began, but Steven interrupted him.

"We may find that we have to defend ourselves from both sides before this is over."

"But Tredony is annexed," Rupert pointed out.

"Technically," Steven conceded, "But her loyalty is becoming questionable, and I fear it may become nonexistent if we annex Aarbyville."

"We're doing that?" Rupert's eyes widened.

"Possibly," Steven answered, "Possibly not. That's why we have to be ready. It's our job to be prepared when Lord Spaulding gives us our orders."

"I think I liked it better before we attracted all this attention," Rupert muttered.

"You mean when getting Minstrel Rhianwen to notice you was the most important thing in the world?" Steven inquired with an amused grin.

"The only reason that's not the most important thing now," Rupert said firmly, "is that now she finally has. The problem now is getting married."

"Oh, I thought you two were engaged now," Steven said.

"We are, but there's a bit of a snag in the actual getting married part."

"Really? What's the problem?" Steven asked.

"She says none of the locations I've suggested are flat enough," Rupert explained.

"Have you tried the Jacoban Church?" Steven asked.

"She says Shepherd Edwin keeps getting in the way," Rupert replied with a shrug.

Perplexed, Steven asked, "Of what?"

"The flatness of the area. She says that until he stops getting in the way of our getting married, she will never convert," Rupert himself had converted to the Jacoban faith not long ago, but Rhianwen was still determinedly an agnostic, though for no reason that was terribly apparent.

"Funny, Lord Spaulding told me he became Jacoban specifically so he _could_ get married," Steven recalled, "Of course, he also told me he became Jacoban just because he liked the spires on the church."

"Piece of advice: never fall in love with a woman who insists on perfectly level ground for her wedding. It's not worth it," Rupert advised sagely.

"I'll try not to," Steven laughed.

"I mean it," Rupert insisted seriously, "If you think it's bad when they ignore you, you should try dealing with them when they don't like your choice of venue for the wedding."

"I'll take that under advisement," Steven said, managing a straight face, then decided to return to more serious matters, "Now, about the Aarbyville situation-"

Apparently it was a day for interruption, as Steven's sentence was interrupted by the door banging open and Adept Amie, the kingdom's royally appointed wizard, came rushing in. Amie's long sea green hair was uncombed, her green sapphire eyes wild behind her signature masquerade mask.

Steven braced himself, unsure of what she might do. When Steven and Amie had first met, she had attempted to Curse him before they even exchanged names. She had later apologized for this, and even helped Steven to win a tournament against Advorton's champion, and Steven felt a tentative friendship for her, but her moods were mercurial and sometimes dangerous. For the moment, she looked merely wild and frightened rather than angry, but Steven didn't entirely trust that.

He trusted even less the words of warning which came from Amie in a torrent.

"It's The Pit Beast!" Amie cried with panic in her voice, throwing herself at Steven and shaking him by the nearest arm, "It's going to die!"


	13. Chapter 13

"The Pit Beast? Die? Impossible," Rupert scoffed, "That thing has been here since before the first human set up a hut in this area generations ago. The Pit Beast is immortal."

Stepping back from Steven, Amie turned to Rupert, anger flickering behind the mask, "You would doubt the foresight of your king's wizard?"

"Amie," Steven ventured, but she ignored him.

"You, who have never been outside the familiar safety of Freedonia's borders?" Amie continued, "The Pit Beast belongs to a reality much larger than yourself or Freedonia. It is ancient yes, but it is _far_ from immortal."

"But people tried to kill it for centuries before we put it to its present use," Rupert argued.

"And how many have come for our Captain Steven with death in their hearts? How many of them has he turned back? And yet, do you think he is immortal? He is not. And neither is the Pit Beast."

Sharply had she put her point into focus, for Rupert knew full well how often Steven had faced down bandits while on patrol, and challengers at home, this aside from the occasional tournament or witch trying to do him in. Equally well, he knew how often Steven had been hurt doing so.

" _Why_ is it going to die, Amie?" Steven interjected, "What's going to kill it?"

"That I don't know yet," Amie replied, having recovered her composure after the hysterics she'd been in when she first arrived, "All I know is that I was scrying into the future and I saw the Beast was dead. More importantly, I saw the future of Freedonia if the Beast should die during this war."

"What happens?" Rupert asked, worried now he'd been converted to the idea that The Pit Beast was not as eternal as it had always seemed to be.

Amie answered, "Freedonia's criminals will lose their fear of punishment. The other territories will not only cease to feel safe within our borders, they will feel free to do whatever they wish. Thefts, kidnappings, assassinations, war not only within our borders but inside the village and even the castle walls. Freedonia will be in ruin."

"All because of the death of one Beast?" Steven inquired, not disbelieving, but hard pressed to even imagine it.

"The Beast's death itself will unsettle the fabric of the world, and the consequences for that will be far reaching. But the ruin of Freedonia in the near future will be in part due to her people's reaction to the death of the creature. Consider this: most people believe the Beast is immortal, just as Rupert said. What happens when a constant in the world, something which has always been and should always be, is suddenly ripped away from an entire kingdom without explanation?"

"Chaos," Steven said quietly.

"Precisely," Amie agreed, "For the sake of Freedonia, and her people, we must find out what causes the Beast to die, and we must prevent it at any cost. All I know is that it seems to be some sort of illness, or... or poisoning that happens somehow. I do not know how, or even when. Steven, I came here to ask for your aid, as you once asked for mine."

"Of course," Steven replied, "But what can I do?"

"Speak with Executioner Bailiff. You and he are on good terms, and no one knows the Beast better than he does. Perhaps he can tell you something about the Beast's health, what it is fed and how it is cared for. In the meantime, I will search the wizard archives for any reference to the Pit Beast."

"What am I? Overcooked gruel?" Rupert objected.

Amie narrowed her eyes to glare at him and replied, "Yes."

Steven was more tactful, "Rupert, you have a wedding to plan. Besides, it may be that this business with the Pit Beast will occupy much of my time. I may need you to take on some of my duties so that I am not missed. We don't want to cause a panic. See to the guards' schedules, and patrols, particularly the ones monitoring activity in Tredony and Aarbyville."

"Well..." Rupert looked suspicious that he was being left out, and a bit hurt, but Steven was more than his friend, Steven was also his commander, "Okay. But I have a bad feeling about this, Steven. So... be careful."

"Please," Steven said lightly, "I feed the Beast three times a week. It's not as if I'm going to jump into The Pit looking for answers. I'm just going to talk to Bailiff. What is there to be careful of?"

"I don't know," Rupert replied, "And that's what worries me."

"Hey!" Amie snapped, rapping Rupert on the head with the end of her staff, "You leave the scrying to the wizard. Just do your own job, let Steven do his, and I'll do mine. Okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, Amie turned and left.

Rubbing the rapidly forming bruise on his head, Rupert said soberly, "I don't trust her."

"She means well," Steven replied, hoping he was speaking truthfully rather than hopefully, "She's just not always nice about it. She's often cruel, Rupert, but she's not evil."

"Just the same," Rupert insisted, "You watch your back around her."

Remembering his first encounter with Amie all too clearly, Steven offered Rupert a half smile that was meant to be reassuring and said, "Always."

* * *

It frequently being one of Steven's duties to feed The Beast, he had grown used to the nature of the Judgment Zone as a place of noisy depravity. But it had been a little while since he'd visited the area. In truth, it had been some weeks since he'd been assigned to feed The Beast. It hadn't occurred to him to question it, but now he suddenly knew why anyway.

The Judgment Zone was noisier than usual, and more crowded as well. In fact, the whole area around The Pit was absolutely packed. Steven recognized most of the people standing around as prisoners he'd helped offload from ships coming in from Tredony and Aarbyville. There was no mystery in why they were here, it was clearly a queue for being tossed into The Pit.

Steven had once questioned why no one seemed to resist Executioner Bailiff's throwing them into The Pit, but Bailiff had told him it simply wasn't done. Steven still didn't understand it, but it certainly seemed to be the case that nobody argued with Death, or even one of Death's servants. He hoped he'd never have to find out firsthand why that was.

Working his way through the throng, Steven tried several times to engage Bailiff's attention before finally succeeding.

"Yes, sir?" Bailiff inquired.

"There has been some concern expressed about The Pit Beast's continued good health," Steven began tactfully, "And no one knows The Beast better than you, so it seemed prudent to ask you."

"I see, sir," Bailiff nodded, then went on, "Truth is, Griselda is sick, I think."

"Griselda?" Steven asked.

"That's her name. The Pit Beast, sir," Bailiff explained, "Or it's the name I call her by anyway."

It had never really occurred to Steven that The Pit Beast might have a name. He supposed that shouldn't be too surprising. After all, people had names, birds had names, territories had names, ships had names, mountains had names, ruins had names, nondescript flat places had names, so why not The Pit Beast as well?

Bailiff was going on, "She's started spitting up some things after she's eaten them."

"Like what?" Steven asked.

"Weapons, armor, bits of this and that people had on their persons when they were thrown into The Pit. I don't pay much attention to what, really, sir. I just take it and bury it around so it doesn't get in anybody's way."

Laying aside the fact that things like weapons and armor could fetch a good price, they could probably be melted down and reformed into something else by a skilled blacksmith. Not that Freedonia had such a person, but surely she traded with territories who _did_ , and that wasn't nothing.

It had never occurred to Steven that the people he and his guards were guiding into the kingdom and towards the Judgment Zone were carrying things like armor and weapons under their regular clothing. He would have assumed they would have been stripped of such articles before being brought in. There was something quite bizarre about how the whole prisoners thing worked, but Steven didn't figure it was his job to suss it out.

"I don't suppose you have anything Griselda has spat up that you haven't buried yet," Steven said, thinking it might be advantageous to examine these objects.

Not that he had any hope of understanding what he was looking at. It wasn't as if he was a physician or anything. But maybe he could figure something out. Or bring back the objects for Amie to figure out, assuming she could do that. If either of them could, it would probably be her. She was no substitute for a physician, but she was closer to one than Steven. Besides, she was magically inclined, and Steven had a suspicion that The Pit Beast was at least magic adjacent, if not actually magic itself.

"No, but I have this map. I've marked all the places I buried stuff. I'd dig them up, myself, but I have all these people I need to throw into The Pit. You understand, sir."

Steven decided not to question why Bailiff had made the map, and simply took it. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with the map. Looking at it, he wasn't even sure what the various squiggles were supposed to represent. He tried turning it over, but that didn't seem to help any.

"You'll need a shovel, sir," Bailiff said helpfully.

"I see," Steven replied absently, trying to make head or tail of what he was looking at.

Steven had been quite pleased with himself over learning how to read maps despite Greta's attempts to keep him from figuring them out, but this hand drawn map on scrap paper was thoroughly incomprehensible to him. Still, he figured it best to take the map, go buy a shovel in the village, then come back and try to dig up the various bits of things The Executioner had buried.

As Steven set off in the direction of the path to the village, Bailiff returned to his work, namely taking people one at a time to The Pit and pointing sternly to the plank hanging out over it. The prisoner would obediently walk it and step off into The Pit. A battle would ensue, and the residents of Freedonia would gather around and applaud The Pit Beast. People rarely escaped after being thrown into The Pit, but the show was generally pretty good, or so Steven had been told.

Halfway to the village, Steven still hadn't puzzled out the map. So engrossed in the task was he that he almost ran into someone familiar.

"Ho! Captain Steven Westmoreland, Knight of Freedonia! Just the man I was looking for! Have at you!" Steven had barely a moment to react before Sir Stabsalot swung a sword at him.

In the brief moment Steven had to step back to avoid the sword, he felt an odd sense of unreality as he realized that Sir Stabsalot was making the exact mistake he had once made himself.

Sir Stabsalot was a foreign fighter from parts unknown, who was dead-set on becoming the greatest warrior of all time. Since Steven had last seen him, Sir Stabsalot had acquired heavy plate armor which Steven found startlingly familiar, for it was the same armor Steven himself had worn during his first duel with Sir Geoffrey the Inebriated, easily identifiable by the shoddily repaired break where Sir Geoffrey's scimitar had slashed through. Heavy plate armor meant fatigue would not be long in coming, and that would severely cut into Sir Stabsalot's stamina.

Sir Stabsalot had a different sword as well, but Steven couldn't readily identify it. He at least managed not to bury it in the ground and get stuck this time, though whether that was a measure of skill or sword quality Steven was uncertain.

Since his first confrontation with Sir Stabsalot, Steven had adopted the light but tough Advortonian Scale which he had fought so hard for. The sword he carried now was Frostfang, a sword that was exceptionally light and well-balanced, making it easy to use with great precision.

"Trying to take me unaware without challenging me is the mark of an assassin, not a knight," Steven spat as he settled into a restful stance, "And it does not become you."

"Advantage by any means," Sir Stabsalot retorted.

"Is this really necessary?" Steven queried.

"Only if you want to survive," Sir Stabsalot replied, hefting his sword and trying to run Steven through with it.

Steven deftly evaded this, and said, "Very well, if you insist."

He drew Frostfang from its sheath, at which time something occurred which startled both him and Sir Stabsalot so much that they nearly forgot their quarrel. As Steven drew the sword, he felt a rush go through him, like snow prickling across his skin. At the same time, an ice blue glow manifested, but it seemed to come from within Steven himself as the sword remained gold in color. Forgetting for a brief moment to keep his eyes on his opponent, Steven looked down and was shocked half out of his wits to find that not only himself but his armor as well had acquired not just a blue tinge but full blue color, and also become faintly transparent. His feet had gone almost entirely. He would have been interested to know that his hair had gone snow white as had his eyes.

It took the heart of battle right out of Sir Stabsalot. He managed not to flee in abject terror, but he was less than a match for Steven, even aside from the disadvantage conveyed by the heavy armor. On the other hand, Steven himself was a bit off his game, as he hadn't expected this alteration to his existence, and he wasn't sure if it was permanent.

Sir Stabsalot swung repeatedly, but his aim was far off, making evasion from Steven almost unnecessary. Sir Stabsalot failed to dodge blows from Steven, either because of distraction or unwonted weight. In any case, Steven made short work of him and sent him packing.

"Maybe you should take up a new quest," Steven suggested to Sir Stabsalot, "As you seem to be stuck on this one."

"I'll be back," Sir Stabsalot promised, "You just wait."

"I'll do that," Steven sighed, watching his adversary go.

Steven then looked briefly at Frostfang, before putting it back in its sheath. He was relieved to find he was at once back to normal after putting away the sword, as the change to himself had thoroughly unsettled him. In fact, it had somehow reminded him of the cemetery, though he wasn't quite sure why that should be.

Shaking his head as he recovered his nerves, Steven continued on into the village.


	14. Chapter 14

The last time he had ventured into the village, Steven had wound up being nearly pelted to death by potatoes, one of which had actually left a visible scar above his right eye. But today the potato wielding villagers had apparently stayed home, as Steven met with no trouble buying the shovel and then returning to the Judgment Zone around The Pit.

The difficult part of the endeavor turned out to be trying to find the spot on the map where he was supposed to dig. The Judgment Zone would seem to have very distinctive land marks, with its obligatory Pit and stocks, along with an ancient felled tower of some kind that had a gnarly tree thrusting up out of its remains, and the squat little stone hut where Executioner Bailiff seemed to reside when he wasn't working, but the map rendered all of these features into similar looking blobs.

After wandering around for the better part of the afternoon, Steven finally decided to just take a gamble and dig somewhere. He came up almost at once with some kind of slime covered object. Picking it up and wiping off a bit of the slime, he recognized it as a gold bar.

Since the strategy had worked so well, Steven tried again, digging at where the map seemed to be indicating he should. Unfortunately, it turned out that he had misjudged it. What the spot on the map had actually indicated was where a tentacle of the Pit Beast lay just beneath the surface. When Steven uncovered it, it briefly grabbed him and tried to yank him down into the ground. The hole proved to be too small, and the tentacle wound up only banging Steven against the ground a couple of times before it let him go, shaken and gasping, and understandably frightened.

Hungry after the efforts of the day, stinking of The Pit, and slightly bruised from his rude introduction to the ground, Steven decided to call it quits. He would rest, regroup and try again later.

* * *

On the way back from lunch, Steven was met by Lord Spaulding, heading in the same general direction. Steven observed that his monarch looked particularly irked about something.

"Did you know that Burdley is full of squirrels?" Lord Spaulding asked.

Steven considered this and answered cautiously, "I didn't _know_ there were squirrels, as I've never been to Burdley, but they are famously a forest dwelling people, so I suppose I just assumed-"

"They're overrun!" Lord Spaulding exclaimed, "Worse, the squirrels refuse to abide by the laws. I've written three laws already this morning, and Town Crier Olga says that Burdley hasn't sent any notice of change. I'm thinking of having her thrown into The Pit?"

"What? All of Burdley, My Lord?" Steven asked in some disbelief.

"No, Olga."

"That would be in keeping with tradition," Steven sighed, "I don't believe a single town crier has lasted more than a week since I was appointed Knight of Freedonia."

"One of them might try not ringing their bell in my face every time I come to the town square," Lord Spaulding said, "They might, but they haven't."

Remembering his own first day as knight, Steven ventured, "Have you told them what is expected of them when you appoint a new town crier?"

"I don't appoint them," Lord Spaulding snapped irritably, "Frankly, I'm not convinced Freedonia needs or wants a town crier. But every time I send one to The Pit, another one just shows up. They pop out of the ground like rabbits and I can't find what hole they're coming out of."

"Then what's the point of executing them if you know another will simply show up and behave more or less as their predecessors did?" Steven asked.

"It gives me great satisfaction, and the town square is quieter for a few minutes."

"Perhaps," Steven suggested, "if you were to put them in stocks, the square might remain quieter for longer."

"Now there's a thought," Lord Spaulding said, "A rather naïve one, but a thought nonetheless."

"Executioner Bailiff has been very busy lately," Steven pointed out, "But the constable hasn't had anything to do. All the criminals being brought in are sent straight to The Pit."

"You're a bright boy and I like you, but you just don't understand politics," Lord Spaulding told him, "For instance, I'm going to Burdley, to burn down the forest. Do you know why?"

"I can't imagine," Steven replied honestly.

"If I burn down the forest, that gets rid of the squirrels. The people of Burdley will be falling all over themselves to be annexed by the kingdom who saved them from their squirrel infestation."

"But, My Lord," Steven protested, "The people of Burdley _live_ in the forest. You'll be burning down their homes."

"Don't be ridiculous, nobody lives in a forest," Lord Spaulding replied, "I don't know who fills your head with nonsense like that. Next you'll be telling me the Pit Beast isn't immortal."

Steven coughed, but opted not to actually say anything to this.

"Where are you going anyway?" Lord Spaulding asked, "I didn't assign you to feed The Beast today. Its so full of Consortium and Pirate criminals that it couldn't possibly be hungry."

"You did not, My Lord," Steven confirmed, "I've fulfilled my tasks for the day and so I'm helping the wizard. I've lived here all my life, so I know the area and people well-"

"And she doesn't get along with anybody," Lord Spaulding concluded, though that hadn't been where Steven intended to go at all, "I'm glad to see that you're looking past your personal feelings about her and looking out for the greater good of Freedonia."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Well, I'm off to burn down a forest if the town crier doesn't have any news. If Greta gets back before me, don't tell her where I've gone."

"Yes, My Lord," Steven answered, then paused and tried again, "I mean, no, My Lord."

"Well, whichever one you mean, it better not involve telling Greta that I'm burning down a forest," Lord Spaulding said, then waved and continued on to the town square, while Steven stopped and turned off the path at the Judgment Zone.

After messing around with the map some more, Steven finally chose a spot to dig. This time he uncovered a dagger. Like the gold bar, it was covered in a sort of murky green slime which Steven would have been happier not to have touched.

He showed the dagger and gold bar to Bailiff, who confirmed that those were the correct articles. At a loss for what else to do, Steven decided to visit Amie's tower and tell her what he'd found, and also what he'd learned. Perhaps she'd uncovered some more useful information in her archives.

Steven did not visit Amie at her home very often, partially because his first visit there had nearly resulted in a Curse being put on his head, but also because he didn't much care for the magically held together rock and moss bridge that led to the otherwise free standing plateau on which her precarious three-story tower had been built.

Still, he had agreed to help Amie, and returning with what information he'd gathered in a timely manner seemed the best way to accomplish that. This seemed to be especially the case since apparently the future of Freedonia was at stake, and they might not have much time.

Accordingly, Steven crossed the bridge and knocked on the door.

Amie's familiar voice spoke from the other side, "Enter."

Steven hesitated, because that was the exact same tone of voice she'd used to say that precise word back when they'd first met, when she had tried to Curse him. He wasn't keen on a repeat performance, especially considering her improved abilities and the greater power of her recently acquired Watcher's Staff. After taking a steadying breath, Steven entered.

Amie was leaned over her potion crafting table, working hard at something. The room was bare except for the crafting and scrying tables, its stone walls and wood flooring naked, and a single, rather cheap chandelier hanging from the ceiling. When Steven entered, Amie turned to face him.

"Well?" She asked.

"Executioner Bailiff says that the Pit Beast isn't doing well. She's been spitting up weird items, like a bar of gold and a dagger," he opted to spare Amie the look of the things unless she asked to see them.

"Well _of course_ it is," Amie said, "It can't stomach metals. And it's probably full of them, since it's been fed so many war criminals."

"So we need to stop the metal from going in," Steven theorized, "Search people before we throw them into The Pit."

"We need to do _more_ than that," Amie told him, "We need to take _out_ the metal that's in there already. It's poisoning The Beast and must be removed forthwith."

"How?" Steven asked, though a sinking feeling inside told him he really didn't want to know the answer.

Amie looked at him, her eyes bright behind the mask, as she said, "Simple. We'll just feed you to The Beast, and you'll remove the metal from inside it by hand."

* * *

It took no small amount of convincing for Amie to assure Steven that she was not simply in one of her moods, and that she did not intend for him to die in The Pit. It took her still longer to convince him she wasn't completely out of her mind in suggesting such a thing. To the best of Steven's knowledge, people who went into The Pit did not come out again. Not alive anyway. That was, in short, the entire point of throwing people into The Pit.

But the way Amie explained it, they were going to feed The Beast some drugged meat, and then it would leave Steven alone while he cleared out the metal. Amie referred to the metal as being "in The Pit" but they both knew that it would be at least partially inside The Beast itself. It was one thing to jump into The Pit, but quite another to actually step into the literal Jaws of Death.

"The Beast is full to the brim with Tredony Consortium and Aarbyville Pirate," Steven pointed out, "how can we be sure it will even take the drugged meat?"

"Cut down on its food intake, and feed The Beast its favorite meat," Amie replied passively, "Which means I need to talk to Lord Spaulding about the execution schedule, and you need to hunt a bear."

"How can you be sure bear meat is the way to go?" Steven asked.

"Please. Do you think I read those dusty old archive scrolls for my own amusement? I mean, some of them are pretty funny, and you wouldn't believe some of the spelling mistakes-... but no! I know what I'm talking about. This will work."

" _You're_ not the one jumping into The Pit," Steven observed.

"I know about The Beast academically. But you've seen it up close and in action. You know how it moves and reacts better than I do. Besides, it's been your job to feed it. If the drug doesn't work, it's possible that maybe The Beast will remember that and opt not to eat you."

"You're not exactly filling me with confidence," Steven told her.

"It'll be okay, Steven. Just trust me."

Steven realized he didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. Amie had said that The Beast would die if they did nothing, and that Freedonia would pay for its loss. Steven recalled the genuine terror in her eyes when she had first come to him. He did not know what she'd seen, but it had been some horror she had felt unable to express fully in words. It was she who could look into the future, not him.

In the end, it just made sense. Steven had trained his guards. In the event of his death, any of them could learn to take his place. But a wizard was much harder to come by. Besides, as this was a physical task and not a magical one, it clearly fell within his purview.

Even so, Steven had his doubts about the plan. Quite clearly he remembered Lord Spaulding's remark with regards to the Pit Beast, as well as Rupert's before him. If Lord Spaulding could not be convinced that The Beast was ill, it was unlikely that Amie could convince him to cut down on the executions via Pit. Even if he did so to humor her, it might not be enough. More than likely, he would cut only the Consortium or only the Pirates from the execution schedule (this being the easiest way to half the amount of meat going into The Beast on a daily basis), and Steven had his doubts as to whether The Beast would be left hungry enough to consume the drugged bear meat.

And that was if Amie could even find Lord Spaulding in time. Steven wasn't sure how long The Beast had. How long did they have to wait for it to get hungry enough to feed? If Lord Spaulding was out forest burning, would they have time to wait for him to get back? Steven didn't know the answers to these questions.

Thus it seemed prudent to stop off and ask Executioner Bailiff if there was anything the Pit Beast particularly _didn't_ like to eat. If Steven could disguise himself in some way and make himself seem less edible, maybe that would raise his chances of survival, even if everything else went wrong.

After a long, slightly awkward silence, Executioner Bailiff finally said, "Cinnamon, sir."

"Cinnamon?" Steven repeated.

"Makes her sneeze, sir," Bailiff explained.

"Sneeze?" Steven repeated, not much liking the sound of that.

Executioner Bailiff shrugged, "It did when a squirrel covered in cinnamon jumped in The Pit."

Steven opted not to ask why the squirrel had been covered in cinnamon or why it had chosen to jump into The Pit. These seemed like questions he didn't want the answers to.

"Thank you, Bailiff," Steven said, and left the Executioner to his task.

As he was on his way out to the forest to hunt for a bear, Steven felt a sudden tap on his shoulder. He turned, but saw no one there. Then he felt a tap on his other shoulder. Turning, he still saw no one. A tap on his first shoulder annoyed him, but this time he feinted, making as if to turn in that direction, but instead turning in the other in time to see a hand raised to tap his other shoulder. He caught it by the wrist, and found it was attached to Adora, the under-spy.

She squeaked when he caught her by the wrist, and thrashed violently until he let her go, which he did almost immediately, seeing as grabbing a lady by the wrist was considered to be quite unchivalrous, even if she was sneaking up behind you and tapping you repeatedly on the shoulder.

Recovering her composure and finding herself unhurt, Adora said smoothly, "Good reflexes, Knight-Boy. You could've been an assassin."

"I prefer to look my enemies in the eye," Steven said flatly.

He'd had very little contact with Adora, but the strawberry blond with the gold and emerald hair net who routinely dressed in black had a way of slipping in and taking valuables off his person. And not just _his_ person, either. Quite freely had she stolen from the Advorton delegation after the territory was annexed, as well as the guards assigned to security during the event.

Whereas Steven had not been appointed as Freedonia's knight until after the barracks were constructed, and Amie hired from somewhere far away after the construction of the wizard's tower, Adora had technically been the spy for Freedonia from the start, though she had flatly refused to do any work until quarters were built for her in the castle, and undoubtedly she had lived as a bandit up until then. It seemed as if she still much preferred living that way even now.

"You can look your enemies in the eye before they're dead if you use a slow acting poison," Adora pointed out cheerfully, "And the look on their face when they realize what's happening is usually priceless. I wish I had some way to capture that look for all time and hang it up on my wall, but Lord Spaulding says I'm not allowed to behead my victims and mount them. I don't see why not. He does it with grimbeasts, so I call double standard," she rolled her eyes.

Adora's attitude had the unsettling effect of reminding Steven of Witch Celeste, as the viewpoint sounded disturbingly similar.

"What do you want?" Steven asked, thinking Adora must have had some reason for purposely getting his attention as he realized she'd never addressed him directly before.

"Oh, nothing much," Adora replied casually with a bat of her eyelashes, "Just to tell you that gangs from Aarbyville seem to be slithering in our direction. That's all. I'm sure it's not important."


	15. Chapter 15

After Steven got away from Adora (roughly fifty simoles lighter, he was later to discover), he went out in search of a bear. Steven well remembered his first bear hunt as knight, and made sure to keep a sharp lookout for any witches lurking in the forest. Steven didn't see a witch, but he didn't see a bear either. In fact, he managed only to take out a stag that flushed out of the bushes at him unexpectedly. Upon closer inspection, Steven recognized it as a grimstag, a creature of unusual size and aggression, less common than the better known grimbear, but just as impressive as a wall decoration.

With wry amusement, Steven thought that if huge animals kept rushing out of the bushes and all but impaling themselves on his sword, he'd get to having a reputation as a mighty hunter, when the reality was simply that he had fast reflexes and apparently smelled delicious to forest monsters.

On the way back to the castle, Steven came across a few guards returning from patrol. On asking them if they'd seen anything, he wasn't surprised to find that Adora had been telling him the truth. The guards reported some activity out in the forest, but they couldn't be sure who it was as the activity was beyond the border of Freedonia. Steven doubted Adora had any compunction about crossing borders. It was all part of her job to do things like that, and not get caught.

Steven told the guards to stay alert, and resolved to increase the frequency and strength of patrols along that border. Then he turned back to his present problem, which was that of getting some bear meat. He could simply go hunting again, but he felt that it would be just as likely for him to come upon a boar or another stag as it was for him to find a bear.

He could just go to the village and see if someone else had caught a bear recently that they wanted to sell the meat from, but he wasn't terribly keen on that. Firstly there was the cost, as bear meat was quite expensive. But secondly there was the minor fact that he was a knight, and as such could hunt in the forest, something not everyone in the kingdom could do. Taking forest hunted meat from the village didn't seem right to him.

After a short internal debate, Steven decided to go to the throne room. Lord Spaulding might be gone, but probably Guard Rhona would be about. Steven planned to try and trade his venison (or possibly the grimstag trophy he'd acquired) for a hunk of bear meat. Rhona, despite being a guard, was also Lord Spaulding's wife, and she had a great deal of say as to what sort of meat the larder was stocked with. And Steven happened to know she had a fondness for venison.

Because of this, combined with the frequency with which Lord Spaulding went out to hunt Great Bear, there was sure to be bear meat, and possibly not so much venison.

To Steven's surprise, not only was Lord Spaulding in the throne room, but so too was Amie.

"Lord Spaulding made an oopsie," Amie informed Steven as he approached.

Not only was this impolite, it was practically unheard of to openly discuss any mistake or inadequacy of a monarch, particularly right in front of them. Steven opted to pretend he hadn't heard.

"My Lord," Steven opened, "I find myself in need of bear meat, and with a surplus of venison. I was curious if perhaps your larder might benefit from the addition of the latter to its stocks?"

"Rhona certainly thinks so," Lord Spaulding muttered, but seemed less than interested.

"Turns out the forest dwelling people of Burdley are rather attached to their forest," Amie persisted, "You know, where they live. And _somebody_ went and burned it down."

"Shall I discuss the matter with the Lady Rhona then?" Steven asked, continuing to ignore Amie, who now glared at him as she recognized his selective deafness for what it was.

"No need," Lord Spaulding sighed, "Adept Amie tells me that our Pit Beast is having some problems with indigestion, and I happen to know Griselda is partial to bear."

Steven was rendered speechless for a moment. Lord Spaulding was better informed than he would have anticipated, especially considering their earlier conversation. Not only did he know of and accept that there was something wrong with the Pit Beast, he knew Executioner Bailiff's name for the creature, and also its favorite food. Steven wondered what else Lord Spaulding knew.

"There's also a minor matter of a report from my guards returning from a forest patrol," Steven opened, but Lord Spaulding was apparently in on that one too.

"Aarbyville gangs," Lord Spaulding said, "Looking for soft spots in our defenses, no doubt."

"You're very well informed," Steven remarked, unable to conceal his surprise.

"Burdley isn't that far from Aarbyville," Lord Spaulding replied, "And anyway, I ran into Adora on my way home. Lost half a pound in simoles too, but I needed to lose some weight anyway. At least the trip wasn't wholly wasted."

Amie sighed noisily and rolled her eyes, one hand on her staff and the other on her hip, " _Fine_. I know a wizard. He specializes in plants. I'll tell him to come see you," almost as an afterthought, she added, "My Lord."

* * *

In addition to the bear meat, Lord Spaulding advised Steven to go to the village and get some cinnamon to cover himself in if he planned to venture into The Pit. Amie expressed no small amount of indignation at the suggestion that her plan to drug the bear meat wouldn't be enough, but Lord Spaulding wasn't interested and dismissed the both of them.

"You know," Steven observed as they walked in the direction of Amie's tower, which was along the route to the village, "It's customary to treat your monarch with a bit more deference and respect."

"I couldn't help it," Amie protested hotly, "First I wait around for hours in the throne room for him, and then he tells me about burning down Burdley, and sentencing two scouts from Burdley to The Pit after he realized how upset the Burdleyites were about the destruction of their precious forest because they could identify him as the arsonist. He's such an _idiot_!"

"You're better off keeping opinions like that to yourself," Steven said warningly.

"Or what? He'll send me to the stocks?" her eyes narrowed as she looked sidelong at Steven, "Lord Spaulding knows better. The kingdom needs her wizard, now more than ever, and he knows it."

"The happiness and security of a kingdom's people are in part determined by their faith in the wisdom and power of their ruler," Steven told her, "Without that, Freedonia will be in chaos and ruin before your prophecy about The Beast ever has a chance to come true."

Amie sighed, and seemed to be in earnest as she said, "I'm sorry, okay? I just can't help myself sometimes, you know that," she was silent a moment, "Oh, by the way, before I forget: here."

She handed him a stoppered bottle containing a purplish liquid.

"Mystic Grog," Amie explained, "For the bear meat."

* * *

Once everything was in readiness, it was decided to wait until morning. Partially with the idea of everyone having a good night's sleep and breakfast before having to face the Pit Beast, but also to maybe give The Beast time to get hungry due to its reduced war criminal intake before throwing the bear into its maw in hopes of making sure it would eat the bear and not simply ignore it or spit it out.

In the middle of the night, Steven awoke as usual, and was unable to go back to sleep for awhile. It was something he'd grown used to, and he'd learned to take a nap at lunchtime if he had the opportunity. It kept him caught up on sleep, but the sleepless part of the night was still pretty miserable.

Steven had initially tried spending the time doing something useful, like studying maps or practicing with his sword on a training dummy. But he'd lately begun to rely on a more relaxing alternative. Having earned a considerable sum of money for his part in the annexation of Advorton, and also having learned there was a second floor to the barracks he hadn't realized was there, Steven saw fit to install some upgrades into his abode.

In addition to the obligatory blue and gold lion flags of the Freedonian knight, the upper floor had a strategy table, a couple of training dummies on one wall, and a stone table with some chairs on the opposite wall. Steven had added a bookshelf, and some books to put in it.

Steven had discovered a love of reading some time ago, during another sleepless night, when he'd wandered into the parlor off to the side of the throne room and found a bookshelf in there. There had been a card table as well, but Steven wasn't interested in risking the loss of money to play, especially since one of the people who'd been floating around that night had been Greta, and Steven had learned that losing against her was simply a fact of life.

He supposed that must be one reason she was Lord Spaulding's royal adviser. He didn't know if Greta's advice was ever any good, but he did know that she tended to finagle a situation until the dice fell in her favor. That was probably a good trait for a royal adviser to have.

Despite numerous attempts, Steven had been unable to inspire any of his guards to read. If they came to the barracks at all of their own accord, they simply practiced swordsmanship on the training dummies and left. Even the strategy table did not seem to hold their interest long. Steven's guards had become more responsible and competent under his leadership over time, but they seemed to almost revel in their own ignorance, as did the majority of the Freedonian population.

But the books still gave Steven something to do in the dead of night when he couldn't sleep (which was most nights, really), and he felt good about finishing one book and starting a new one. It was an adequate distraction for a couple of hours, and then he was usually able to go back to sleep.

Not so tonight, however. The time he'd agreed to meet Amie at the Judgment Zone came all too quickly. He'd become too engrossed in his book and the time passed rapidly without his noticing.

Suddenly looking up to see the sun coming in through the window, Steven had to lay aside his book, cover himself in cinnamon and hurry out to the town square to spit roast and drug the bear meat in a rush to avoid keeping Amie from waiting. He managed to get some cinnamon in his eye as a result, and it burned, but he tried to ignore that. He had bigger problems. _Much_ bigger.

Already waiting for Steven at the Judgment Zone, Amie said, "Remember, The Beast's body goes deep underground. You might have to go through miles of tunnels down there to be sure you've got all the metal. I'm not actually sure how deep you'll have to go."

"I'll remember," Steven reassured her.

"And remember to hurry, we don't know how long the Mystic Grog will last on a Pit Beast. I'm guessing not as long as it does on a human, but that's only a theory," she continued.

"I'll remember," Steven said calmly.

Amie watched Steven step out onto the plank and confidently heave the bear meat into The Pit with practiced ease. In truth, he was not sure The Beast would take the bait. It did, snapping the bear meat out of the air and then lunging partway out of The Pit so as to better thrash and shake the meat before swallowing it with a loud glurking sound.

Somehow, The Beast was always larger and more terrible than Steven remembered. It could extend itself from The Pit until its 'head' was above the tallest buildings in the kingdom. Its body was thicker than a man, and it could swallow Steven whole should the notion occur. After swallowing the meat, it seemed to contemplate just this, perhaps having grown used to the taste of human flesh. Though its blue and black 'head' with the pink interior had no eyes, Steven had the unmistakable impression that it was looking at him for a long moment, before it suddenly withdrew and disappeared back into The Pit from whence it had come.

Steven stepped back from The Pit's edge and waited a few minutes for the drug to take effect. Though really he could not be sure the drug would affect The Beast at all. How would he tell? All was quiet in The Pit unless food was dangled overhead. The Beast gurgled periodically, but that didn't seem to be an indication of its mood, or even a sign as to whether it was awake or not. Did The Beast even sleep? Steven supposed maybe he was about to find out.

Just as he stepped towards The Pit, Amie spoke, "Captain Steven."

"Yes, Adept Amie?" Steven inquired.

"Be careful," Amie's voice was steady and her face expressionless as she said this, but Steven had gotten good at reading those green sapphire eyes behind the mask, and he saw she was worried.

He smiled reassuringly, saying, "Always," before he turned and flung himself into The Pit.


	16. Chapter 16

It was dark in The Pit. And dank.

If Steven had ever wondered what several tons of meat in various stages of digestion and decay smelled like, there was no longer any need. The Beast seemed to have been spitting up a lot of things and leaving them on ledges within The Pit itself. Steven supposed Executioner Bailiff probably didn't jump into The Pit looking for things his beloved pet had failed to swallow.

Steven didn't know how deep The Pit went, but he'd managed to land on a ledge a number of feet down. Below him, partially coiled around its own body and partially resting on a particularly wide ledge, lay The Pit Beast, snoring softly to itself. Apparently it _did_ sleep.

It seemed prudent to collect all the metal on one of the upper ledges and then heave it out of The Pit, rather than going all the way to the top for every load. There was far more metal down here than Steven could hope to bring up all at once. And he hadn't even gotten a close look at The Beast itself yet. Though of course he'd already gotten closer than he would have liked.

At this range, even though only a faint circle of light penetrated from the top of The Pit, Steven could see The Beast had a number of sores on its body that probably weren't usually there. He supposed they were caused by The Beast rubbing against the metal it had spat onto ledges as it lunged in and out of The Pit. The horrible stinking slime he'd encountered on the dagger and gold bar he'd unburied was present, oozing thickly from The Beast's open jaws and puddling underneath it.

Though he didn't have a weak constitution, Steven nonetheless felt a little might nauseous from the smell, and the sickly squelching noise he generated as he began to move along the slime bedecked ledges towards the recumbent and snoring Beast made him feel a little ill as well.

When he reached the ledge on which The Beast rested (really it was more of a platform, being much wider than any of the other ledges Steven had traversed to reach it), Steven became aware that the electric blue portions of The Beast's body (which was the majority of it) glowed faintly. Up close, what had looked like black spots at a distance were revealed to be rough, somewhat sharp protrusions that seemed as if they might be made of igneous rock.

Steven had gotten a close look at The Beast's 'head' before, but always in motion, and usually while he was sick with fear that it might eat him. Right now he was just sick from the smell, though he did feel significant dread about what might happen to him should The Beast suddenly waken.

Three tentacles reached out beyond The Beast's actual mouth, each as long as Steven was tall, and were tipped by claws like the talons of a falcon that were each as long as Steven's arm. They formed a ring around the actual jaws of The Beast, which most people never lived to tell the tale of having seen.

The mouth of The Beast was basically a round, purplish pink hole ringed with row after row of razor sharp teeth. Teeth which, at present, had metal of every conceivable kind caught in them. The entire mouth of The Beast was coated thickly with dark green slime.

Actually climbing into the mouth of The Beast seemed like a huge mistake, but that's what Steven had come down here to do, and he figured that he should do that sooner rather than later, or else risk getting literally caught in The Beast's throat when it awakened.

Normally the area past the teeth rows was contracted, so Steven couldn't tell what lay beyond. But right now The Beast was relaxed, and Steven could see that it was basically an open tube past the teeth, coated in slime but otherwise not terribly menacing. He could also see more bits of metal, such as a sword a few feet in, half buried in The Beast's flesh. Unhappily, he knew he'd have to actually climb into The Beast itself, not merely reach in and pick bits of gold bars and daggers and arrowheads out of The Beast's hundreds of teeth. It was an unlovely proposition, but there was no backing out now.

Freedonia needed her Pit Beast, and this seemed the only way to save it.

So Steven took a deep breath and carefully crept into The Beast's mouth, stepping over each ring of teeth as he came to it. Just past the last ring of teeth, Steven must have stepped on something sensitive or else The Beast was having some kind of weird dream, because it suddenly gave a low moan and shifted. The movement knocked him prone and, for a moment, he was caught full in its contracting throat, but after a few seconds of this, it let him go and relaxed again with a gurgling sigh.

This actually happened a couple of times as Steven worked his way down The Beast's throat until he stopped finding any more bits of metal. The Beast held onto him longer each time, and there was something quite distressing about the tone its sighing took each time it released him. Steven didn't like any part of it, but somehow the sighing moan at the end was the most unsettling.

At least The Beast didn't seem to be too sensitive when it came time for him to yank blades and arrows and other sharp bits of metal out of the sides of its throat. He supposed that if you were going to swallow live prey whole (which seemed to be what The Beast ate by design), you had to have a pretty tough throat, as live prey tended to struggle on the way down.

Back outside The Beast's throat, Steven pulled bits of things from the teeth of the creature, and then began the slow and laborious work of moving the metal from ledge to ledge. There were several pounds worth of swords, metal bits of shield, armor, pieces of money and arrowheads. And of course it was all loose stuff, and there was always something trying to fall off the top of the pile and into the black depths of The Pit. The effort left Steven gasping for breath, and then choking on the stench.

For a time he almost forgot The Beast itself, preoccupied with making sure he didn't miss a single piece of metal, and ensuring that the stack stayed on each ledge long enough for him to climb up. Then he had to take items from the stack without rendering the stack unstable so he could make a new stack on a higher ledge. And so the process repeated.

Somewhere near the top of the ledge, he was disturbed by a sudden noise below. Looking down, he saw that The Beast was moving. It yawned widely, belched, and then slowly raised its head. The clawed tentacles seemed to spot Steven and The Beast regarded him for a long moment as he crouched next to a huge pile of metal. Then something very strange occurred.

Even though The Beast seemed to have no expression, Steven suddenly got the impression that it was trying to look pleased, or perhaps affectionate, or maybe even...

Steven had not noticed a tongue in its throat, but evidently it had one somewhere back there, for it suddenly lunged forward and planted something sloppy, wet, warm and squishy on him. Steven tried not to shudder at the moist thing wrapped briefly around him, squeezed and then withdrew, leaving him more slimy than before and now soaked and dripping as well.

The Beast then sat back and watched the rest of the metal removal process with apparent approval. As best Steven could tell, it was grateful. He still didn't think he'd be doing any recreational jumping into The Pit in future however. For Steven, one trip into The Pit was more than enough.

He also made a mental note to let Executioner Bailiff know that cinnamon didn't actually seem to bother The Beast. Perhaps it was squirrels that The Beast was allergic to.

* * *

There was a party for some reason that Steven couldn't quite divine. It seemed that, ever since the reception hall had been built, Lord Spaulding used any excuse to throw a party in there.

Members of the Tredony Consortium were in there, apparently to express their gratitude at not being tossed into The Pit. Faced with the need to cut down on executions, Lord Spaulding had reasoned that the Consortium seemed to be carrying a lot more metal on their persons and so it would be best to cut them from The Beast's diet. Having been down in The Pit himself and having collected metal-based objects formerly belonging to both Aarbyville Pirates and Tredony Consortium, Steven was unconvinced that this was true. In any case the Consortium seemed to be taking this as a declaration of allegiance. The Aarbyville delegation was nowhere to be seen, but Steven knew from Adora that they were not far away, and it was possible that they were massing their forces for something.

But the Burdleyites were present as well, apparently celebrating the fact that the monarch of Freedonia had somehow replanted their forest after some unidentified person had burned it down. By the look Amie gave Steven on hearing this, he suspected her wizard friend had something to do with it. Steven had also found a few items in The Pit that were of Burdley origin. But he'd given everything he'd dug up to Executioner Bailiff, who had done away with all the metal one way or another, so the mystery of the two lost Burdley scouts remained unsolved.

Whatever was being celebrated, it clearly wasn't what Amie and Steven had done, though a number of people who'd seen him jump in The Pit came and congratulated Steven on still being alive, and complimented him on remembering to bathe before attending this event.

"And the knight gets all the credit again," Amie sighed, sipping her mug of cider.

"Credit for jumping into a Pit and surviving," Steven pointed out, "Nobody seems to know _why_ I did it. I don't much want a reputation for recklessness."

"At least you _have_ a reputation," Amie told him, "the only thing anyone seems to know about me is that I make Drunk-Me-Not and Mystic Grog potions, and that I might yell at them for being stupid after I give them their reality escape potions. I _do_ make other potions, you know. And cast spells. But unless it's to get drunk fast or avoid getting drunk at all, nobody's interested."

"Perhaps it's your perspective that needs adjustment," Steven suggested cautiously, declining a drink that Irving the Servant tried to serve him.

"What do you mean?" Amie asked guardedly, her eyes narrowed behind her ever-present mask.

"You think people are stupid," Steven said, "You've told me as much. If that's _all_ you ever think about them, of course you'll be angry at them, and that's all you'll ever see them as. Even if they do something that isn't stupid, you'll explain it as luck or happy accident. You have to practice viewing people in a different light if you want to see them differently. It's your choice, Adept Amie."

"You just don't understand how hard it is to be cruel and not be able to help it. I don't do it for fun, you know," Amie spat, then continued bitterly, "Even if I thought better of people, they still wouldn't be giving me any credit for anything I do around here. Everything of significance that I do is kept secret 'for the good of the kingdom.' Just once, I want to do something that I can get credit for."

"Any idea what that might be?" Steven asked calmly.

"Some," Amie admitted, "When I was looking through the archives for information on the Pit Beast, I found some scrolls concerning something called the Philosopher's Stone. There were hints that the Stone could grant immortality, cure all ailments and even transmute other metals into gold. If I could craft such an item, I'd go down in history with the most famous wizards of all time."

Steven didn't know the names of any wizards besides Amie, but he decided not to say so.

As Amie paused to take another sip of her beverage, Steven noticed some sort of activity towards the middle of the hall. Most of the guests had wandered to the side of the room where the kegs were, leaving a big, open area in the middle of the room. An area of apparently divine flatness, if the sudden brightness coming from the ceiling was any indication.

"It's about time," Amie muttered.

Guard Rupert and Minstrel Rhianwen stood in the middle of the sparkling brightness that had manifested, holding hands. From nowhere, an old man clad in white appeared in midair, and gently floated down to the floor. This was the Officiator. No one knew where he came from, or even if he was a real person at all. What was known was that all marriages were conducted by him. No one knew when the practice had started. In fact, many people thought it had simply always been.

"We are gathered here today," The Officiator began slowly, peering at bride and groom, and then at the surrounding crowd, "Well, actually, I don't know what you all came here for. But these two are here to get married. And so they are. Bye now," with that, he floated up, and gradually disappeared, along with the evidently heavenly light.

With a squeal of delight, Rhianwen threw herself at Rupert, startling him as she flung her arms around his neck and gave him a smooch. Knowing Rupert quite well, Steven could tell he was trying not to blush and that his knees had gone all rubbery but he was trying not to show that either.

"Well I guess now it's a Wedding Reception Hall!" declared Lord Spaulding with raised glass after the room settled momentarily into silence.

There was a great deal of cheering, clinking of glasses, and everyone seemed eager to congratulate everyone else on witnessing such a fine marriage. Steven couldn't help but notice that Rupert and Rhianwen quietly and hurriedly slipped out amidst the chaos.

"Great," Amie remarked sarcastically, sipping her drink again, "There will be new little Ruperts running around the kingdom in no time. Just what Freedonia needs."

After a moment's contemplation, Steven decided to let the slight against his friend slide. This time anyway. It struck him that Amie seemed to be in a surpassingly sour mood, even for her.

"It's not just a lack of credit that's bothering you, is it?" Steven asked gently.

"No," Amie sighed, "It's the Pit Beast. We saved it this time, but if Lord Spaulding doesn't make a new policy for dealing with criminals, this will just happen again."

"I'm sure he knows that," Steven said mildly.

"He does, but he told me to make the decision," Amie replied, "Either we search prisoners before throwing them in The Pit or else we find some other solution besides The Pit for dealing with them. Personally, I'm in favor of granting mercy and a second chance to criminals, but I don't think Lord Spaulding would go for it."

"You?" Steven asked, with raised eyebrows, " _You_ favor mercy?"

"Just because I hate people doesn't mean I want them dead," Amie informed him.

"I suppose I just assumed..." Steven trailed off.

Amie stared at him for a lengthy moment, then said, "I don't believe it. _You_ favor the death penalty? Even after going in The Pit and seeing what it's like for yourself?"

Steven was silent for a moment, then he said, "I used to hate The Pit. And the stocks, for that matter. I didn't care for Freedonia's brand of justice."

"What happened?" Amie asked when he paused.

"A Witch cursed me," Steven replied.

A curious look on her face, Amie said, "You'll have to tell me about that sometime."

"Yes," Steven agreed thoughtfully, "I shall."


	17. Chapter 17

**Part 4 – Heroes & Demons**

 _"The world is so broken and sometimes it leaves you cold/_  
 _At times you can't feel the fire to guide you home/_  
 _The demons will haunt you and try to steal what you know/_  
 _But the angels, they brought you, and they're gonna hold you up."  
 **-Shane Harper (Hold You Up)**_

* * *

Freedonia was no longer a small kingdom, but a burgeoning empire. She had several surrounding and even distant territories under her rule, and an army to make even a bloodthirsty general think twice before trying to take her on. Despite her army, however, she was not much feared. Lord Spaulding the Great was regarded fondly as benevolent and fair, and he was rich enough that he could afford to either pay off or have killed anyone who didn't choose to regard him that way.

But perhaps one of Freedonia's most famous residents was her knight, Captain Steven Westmoreland, famed primarily for his ability to fight and to inspire slackers to become hard-working and responsible guardsmen and loyal soldiers. However, Captain Steven had also become famous for being the first person to jump into The Pit with The Beast and survive. Many would-be heroes had of course followed his example, with varying results, but it is ever the first to accomplish such a feat who gains fame for it. Steven, for his part, was unhappy to have caused such a trend, and had personally sworn off Pit Jumping, even as he had long ago sworn off drinking.

What was not so well known was that Freedonia's wizard, Amie, newly promoted to Magus, had played a significant part in much of Freedonian history, aiding both monarch and knight during the annexation of both Advorton and Burdley, as well as participating in a rather secretive mission to save The Pit Beast from death by poisoning. Though most everyone knew Steven leaped into The Pit, few people knew _why_ he'd done it.

Amie was increasingly annoyed by her continued obscurity within the kingdom, and perhaps impatient with the nearly continual requests she got for drinking potions and potions for seduction by the villagers, whom she considered to be particularly dim-witted and lacking in natural honesty.

One evening as they were sharing a bowl of potato soup, Amie brought up her annoyance to Captain Steven. It was not the first time she'd done so. Nor was it the first time she'd invited herself over for dinner. At first, she had claimed it was because Steven had a nicer fireplace than her own, but that was no longer the case. These days however she and Steven were quite good friends, and she knew well that he would be up at almost any hour she deigned to arrive, because he had great difficulty sleeping through the night, which was something most people didn't know about him.

In fact, despite his fame, few people really knew much about Steven as a person at all. On the other hand, a great many people knew Amie, primarily for her tendency to suddenly burst out angrily at whoever happened to be in shouting distance, though also she had a tendency to simply curse people walking by when their existence happened to particularly annoy her. The fact that Steven had, on several public occasions, voluntarily hung out with Amie was a deep mystery to the Freedonian people. Several suggested it was just another aspect of his daredevil nature, which they mistakenly believed he possessed. Others suggested that he was doing some kind of penance, and that meant he had to swear off any and all sorts of fun. His avoidance of drink and Pit Jumping aside from that first time seemed to confirm the theory.

But only to those who didn't know him. Those who knew him merely assumed he was too polite to admit to Amie that she was an intolerable person to be around. It seemed safe to assume that he felt sorry for her, for how alone she was, and was nice to her on account of that mainly because he knew no one else had it in them. It was also known to them that he had more than once been assigned to work with Amie, and they knew he was clever enough to get on good terms with anyone he was likely to need something from in the future. Even his friends assumed that it was dedication to duty that made him be nice to Amie, nothing more.

In some ways, Steven's friends knew him least of all.

"The plateau used to be quiet," Amie was telling Steven, "but ever since that fool of a physician showed up, it's been an unending parade of diseased and injured idiots coming across the bridge at all hours of the day or night. You have no idea how difficult that makes meditating."

Even knowing Amie as he did, Steven was not sure if she was actually upset about the numbers and frequency of visitors, or the fact that none of them had come until the kingdom's physician, Bloodletter Iunia, had been installed next door. Amie didn't like people, but she also didn't like the fact that they didn't like her. It seemed to Steven that it was a self-perpetuating problem. People didn't like her, so she was angry with them, which ended up with her being cruel to them, which led them to like her even less, which made her all the angrier. There was no logical end to it.

This he had tried to gently explain, but without any success whatsoever. Thus he had opted to drop the matter, accepting that Amie would do as she pleased, even if it actually displeased her. People were funny that way, but Steven had never had any luck in getting them to change. Change was something they had to do for themselves, or not, as they chose. He tried to stay out of it these days. He had enough issues to focus on without trying to change anyone.

"But the thing that _really_ bugs me about her?" Amie went on, unaware of Steven's thoughts, "She keeps coming to me and asking for money. I lent some money to her once, and she never paid it back. I understand that she's new and can't afford nice things, but when you borrow money, you're expected to pay it back someday."

Steven was inclined to agree. Before he had become a knight, a certain guard by the name of Rhona had always been borrowing money from him and his friend, Rupert. Though Guard Rhona was now the wife of Lord Spaulding and had more than enough money to pave the streets with gold, she never had paid back what she owed, something Steven was too polite to bring up.

But Amie was on a tear and hadn't paused for breath, much less given room for Steven to comment either to agree or disagree with her, "And now I've got Rhianwen on my case! Just because she's pregnant again, she thinks she can come and yell at me whenever she wants. If she didn't have a bun in the oven, I swear I'd deck her."

Amie had predicted, without the need to scry, that Guard Rupert and Minstrel Rhianwen would be having babies as rapidly as possible the moment they were married. She was not wrong. Rupert and Rhianwen already had a daughter named Ruslana, and Rhianwen had become pregnant with a second child almost immediately.

"That doesn't sound like Rhianwen," Steven said, "Not only is she one of the friendliest people in the square, she couldn't win a fight to save her life. Why would she purposely provoke you?"

"I don't know," Amie said, hastily and hotly adding, "But I didn't start it! I've barely ever spoken to her before. Now she just keeps coming in and giving me a hard time for no reason."

Steven remained silent, but Amie seemed to sense his doubt.

"I'm not kidding!" she told him furiously, "I know I'm not always the nicest person, but this time I swear I didn't do anything!"

Steven wanted to say he believed her, but it was against his nature to lie.

"By the Watcher!" Amie complained, "Try to Curse a guy once, and you're branded for life!"

Such had been the basis of Amie's and Steven's relationship. And, try as either of them might, neither could forget it. Steven had long ago let go of any bad feeling he had over the incident. Not only had Amie failed to hurt him, these days he trusted that she wouldn't try it again. Still, it paid to remember that Freedonia's wizard was prickly and temperamental, and extremely dangerous if it came to it. But it did not at all pay to dwell overlong upon the matter.

Steven decided to change the subject, "You make very good potato soup."

Amie blew through her nose, evidently not through being angry, but realizing there was nothing appropriate she could do now except either thank him for the compliment or gloat about her soup making prowess. Glaring at him, she fell silent for a time and they ate their soup quietly.

There was a certain calm which always followed the storm with Amie. After losing her temper and venting it on someone, there was a kind of vulnerability that replaced the anger. It always seemed to Steven that she was genuinely sorry for how she'd acted, and that she really didn't have any idea how to change, or how to properly apologize, even though she wanted to do both. Some people truly enjoyed being mean to others, but Amie seemed to do it without gaining any satisfaction from it, which of course made the whole endeavor seem rather pointless.

But... habits were hard to break. That much Steven knew. He had often privately attributed his difficulty sleeping to habits formed before his appointment as Freedonia's knight. He wasn't sure that those habits were truly the cause... but it felt good to have an explanation anyway.

"So, how are things with the Aarbyville gangs?" Amie ventured after enough time had passed that it would not seem odd to change the topic.

"Quiet," Steven replied shortly, not keen on the subject, "So far."

"You don't think they will stay that way?" Amie inquired.

"No," Steven answered, "Especially not with the recent incident at Kullervo."

"Oh? What happened?"

"I don't know," Steven told her, "Something. One of our fishing vessels returned short several crewman. Its captain was babbling nonsense, and the other survivor of the crew refused to even leave the ship. I couldn't get a useful word out of him. I've gotten permission from Lord Spaulding to visit Kullervo in the morning to try and find out what actually happened."

Steven did not add how truly unsettling the encounter with the terrified crewman had been. The crewman, little more than a boy really, had painted a picture of indistinct horror. Steven had found no useful facts in his fearful litany, but the feel of the crumbled narrative had clung to him. The boy's fright was inexplicably contagious, even though Steven was not at all clear as to what he'd been frightened of. Whatever it was, it was Steven's job to deal with the threat, ideally before it ever touched Freedonia's borders.

"You think the Aarbyville Pirates were involved?" Amie asked, disrupting Steven's thoughts.

"That's what I need to find out," Steven answered without missing a beat, "This war between Tredony and Aarbyville is getting out of hand, and I have a feeling we can't keep out of it forever."

"Well," Amie said with a sigh, "I'd go with you, but I have plans."

"The Philosopher's Stone," Steven recalled, "You're still trying to make it?"

"Of course. I've asked Journeyman Smith Everett to help me. His interest seems... limited."

Steven hadn't had much contact with the blacksmith. Even so, the man had struck him as excitable, and for a moment it escaped him why Smith Everett wouldn't be interested in such a project as the creation of a Philosopher's Stone. He said so.

"Who could pass up the chance to help build something as incredible as the Philosopher's Stone?" Steven wondered aloud.

He realized the obvious too late, for he had already asked the question. Everett wasn't interested because of _who_ was involved in the project.

"That's what I asked him," Amie said, oblivious of the quickly concealed look on Steven's face, "He just told me to get out of his house. Then he went back to making his stupid hammer."

"I'm sure he'll come around," Steven managed to say, doing his best to resume a neutral expression.

Considering how most people felt about Amie, Steven suspected he had just lied to her.


	18. Chapter 18

The skies were almost perpetually clear in Freedonia, but once at sea, the weather took a sharp turn. It was not a good day for sailing, and Steven was not much of a sailor. Aside from the crew, there were two other passengers, Shopkeeper Eloise and Under-Spy Adora. The former was a freckle-faced redhead with gray-green eyes, the latter a strawberry blond dressed in black. Neither seemed to have a particularly good reason for accompanying Steven on this voyage.

Both women fared better on the open sea than Steven, though Eloise did periodically lean over the side railing and scream at the water below for no readily apparent reason.

"Isn't this awesome? This is so exciting!" Adora announced at one point when the ocean became particularly rough, "We might find a mermaid, or a ghost ship, or some pirates or a derelict, or.. or... or... maybe a whale!"

"WHALE!? WHERE!?" screeched Eloise, flinging herself to the railing and nearly over the side of the boat, searching in vain for the potential whale, "WHERE IS IT!?"

"I didn't say there _was_ a whale," Adora said, "I only said that there _could_ be a whale."

"Stop! Stop the ship here! Put down anchor!" Eloise shouted at the captain.

The ship's captain was used to Eloise and her quirks, having sailed with her many times, so he merely shrugged and let her do as she pleased. What she pleased was to heave a small metal boat over the side of the ship, snatch up a harpoon and leap over the side of the ship into the boat below, her skirts billowing out around her like the unfurling wings of a massive and colorful bird.

Steven realized too late what she was doing, and ran over to the railing just in time to watch Eloise land with surprising grace. She landed cat-like on her little whaling boat, untied the line that connected it to the ship, and rowed out into the heaving sea and gathering fog.

"Shouldn't someone go after her?" Steven wondered aloud.

"She always does this," Adora told him, "We'll get her on the return trip. On to Krull!"

"Kullervo," Steven corrected softly.

"Whatever! Let's go!"

When they were underway once more, Steven turned to Adora, "You seem awfully eager to visit Kullervo. You realize they're probably being terrorized by pirates at best, some sort of possibly supernatural monster at worst, don't you?"

"Oh, absolutely," Adora replied chipperly, "That's the sort of thing you need to really put spice into an adventure. Besides, it's absolutely not pirates or a witch or any of the other usual suspects, so there's an awesome veil of mystery that's just begging to be investigated by someone as obviously awesome as myself."

"I see," Steven said mildly, "And how do you know it's not pirates?"

"Please," Adora said coyly, wiggling her shoulders a little, "A spy cannot be expected to reveal her secrets. Least of all to a knight. You're all about justice and order and the good of all. And that's fine. You're a knight, it's your job to be _utterly_ boring and devoid of personality."

That remark stung a bit as Steven found himself wondering if it was true, but he said nothing.

"But I, dear Knight-Boy," she said, gesturing to herself, "Am a spy. It's my job to be into sneaking, corrupting, assassination and theft," this statement was accompanied by a series of gestures and elaborate finger wiggles, possibly miming pickpocketing, from the look of it, "Which of course serves to make me a much more interesting person than you, because I do such a variety of things, you see. You just... hunt deer and teach people to hit things with swords."

Apparently, she was opting to ignore the obvious, which was that both herself and Steven were out here investigating what had happened to one of their ships. Only Steven had a reason for doing so, Adora seemed to be out here entirely for her own amusement. Steven decided it would be rude to say so, and so he didn't.

"Look, I'm not trying to be mean or anything," Adora explained patiently, "Next to anyone else, you would look pretty darn fine, especially with the sexy scar-eyebrow thing you have going for you. But I make elegant people look unappealing when I stand next to them, because -as you can plainly see- I am a thoroughly _gorgeous_ creature, and incredibly talented and smart and totally awesome, if I do say so myself."

Aside from trying to keep an eye on her to stop her from picking his pockets, Steven had never really taken a good look at Adora. He had learned through painful experience in his youth that women didn't usually appreciate being ogled, except under very precise circumstances, and they were inclined to sic their fathers, brothers, husbands or boyfriends on anyone who offended them. Failing at that, the average woman tended to have a very engaging rightcross. Steven had spent a goodly portion of his formative years getting beaten up by men twice his size (and occasionally women half his size), but he had finally absorbed the lesson to such a degree that he really didn't take in much detail of a woman's looks unless there was something exceptionally striking about her.

But now he felt not only invited to look at Adora, but almost as if he had been instructed to do so.

Looking at her slim form in her rather tight-fitting black outfit, and the surprisingly delicate features of her face, the merry twinkling in her sky-blue eyes and the silken reddish blond hair contained within its astoundingly expensive looking hairnet of gold and emerald, Steven had to concede that Adora was not entirely wrong about herself. She _was_ beautiful. Possibly not as beautiful as she seemed to imagine, but beautiful nonetheless. He decided to avoid saying so if at all possible, as it did not appear that her ego needed to be further inflated.

Fortunately, he was saved from comment by the guy in the crow's nest announcing that land had been sighted. Shortly thereafter, they docked at Kullervo.

"Hey, isn't that Sir Stabsalot on the beach?" Adora inquired, pointing.

Steven followed her finger to a figure out on the beach beyond the docks, and sighed inwardly.

"Yes," Steven answered wearily, "Yes it is."

Sir Stabsalot was a persistent thorn in Steven's side. Repeatedly had Sir Stabsalot come to Freedonia and dueled with Steven. Sir Stabsalot's claim was that he was seeking to become the greatest and most famous warrior in all the land, but continually he proved to be cocky, inadequately armed and armored, directly (even foolishly) aggressive to his own detriment, and otherwise thoroughly inept at combat. At first, he had been sort of amusing, but at this point Steven was simply tired of seeing him everywhere. Besides, these days, Steven preferred to save his fighting skill for actual threats.

"Don't worry," Adora said brightly, pulling a container with blue liquid from a pocket in her fitted jacket, "I got this."

"Drunk-me-not?" Steven asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't be absurd," Adora told him, quaffing the potion before pulling out another, this one green, "Now, you just go investigate your mystery. I'll handle Stabby-Boy."

Steven watched rather skeptically as Adora disembarked. Stealthily, she slipped along the dock, using fog as cover, then circled around behind Sir Stabsalot. She tossed her potion at him, causing the unwary fighter to cough and choke for a moment, long enough for her to draw her weapon, which Steven immediately recognized as a Precise Scimitar, not unlike the one used by Sir Geoffrey against Steven during the tournament some time ago.

Adora slashed at Sir Stabsalot from behind. His armor had improved from last time Steven had seen him. It was much lighter, and perhaps not as tough, but tough enough to block the damage from Adora's initial behind-the-back attack. Adora seemed disappointed that she hadn't killed Sir Stabsalot outright, but she settled into the duel rather than fleeing the scene.

Against Steven, Sir Stabsalot had always been hopelessly outclassed, despite the fact that he had more than once employed dirty tricks against Freedonia's knight. But it looked like he had improved his skills somewhat since last time Steven had seen him, as well as his armor and weapon. Adora wore no armor whatsoever and her sword-swinging technique was somewhat crude, but this did not appear to bother her a great deal, as she managed to dance out of the way of Sir Stabsalot's blade with little difficulty. Steven decided to leave her to it as it appeared she could handle herself.

* * *

Steven headed into the town square, wondering slightly at how quiet it was. Unlike in Freedonia, there were no people in the streets. Not even a town crier incessantly ringing their bell. In fact, the whole place seemed almost dead until Steven came upon a merchant stall, which was being tended by a very nervous looking man.

"Who are you?" the nervous man asked.

"Captain Steven, Knight of Freedonia," Steven replied.

"Freedonia? Like those fishermen from a few days ago?" the man inquired.

"Yes. That's why I'm here, in fact," Steven said, "Their ship was attacked. The survivors don't seem to be in any condition to give coherent answers, so I'm here to try and find out what happened."

"They went into the demon forest," the man told him, "We warned them it was dangerous, but they only laughed. When they left, they took the demon with them."

"When you say demon, what do you mean by that?" Steven asked.

"I mean demon," the man answered, "One was possessed by it. He must have killed its former slave, and become host to it as punishment. That's how it works, you know."

"So you're suggesting that one of the ship's crew was possessed by a demon, and attacked his own ship?" Steven inquired.

"Exactly," the man nodded vigorously.

"For what purpose?" Steven asked, "Killing the crew would risk stranding the ship on the ocean, with only one person to man it. Even possessed by a demon, surely he could not hope to man every station."

"Even if he couldn't move his ship, the waters between here and Freedonia are highly traveled by merchants and pirates alike. Either would investigate a seemingly derelict ship sooner or later. Finding the apparent survivor, they would either take him with them or kill him, thereby making themselves the demon's new slave."

Steven knew little enough about demons, but this certainly sounded like nonsense to him. _Something_ had happened, but he had trouble believing the old man or his nephew had been possessed by a demon. Aside from severe disorientation on the part of the former, and the deep, unreasoning terror of the latter, they had both seemed fairly normal to talk to. Or human, anyway.

But Steven supposed that, if the Pit Beast could be deathly allergic to metal, anything was possible.

After thanking the man for his time, Steven continued on. He met few people, but got much the same story out of them. Some sort of horrible beast had been in the forest near Kullervo, attacking and killing everything and everyone in sight. They knew it wasn't a bear or a witch, but no one was entirely sure what it was. Some thought they'd seen a giant wolf the color of midnight, others said it was a humanoid of purest ink-black with giant bat wings and terrible glowing eyes. But all were certain it was a murderous monster of some sort, and that the fishermen from Freedonia had taken it with them somehow, though they seemed unable to adequately explain _how_ they knew that.

Briefly, Steven explored the forest. It was similar to the forest near Freedonia, though clearly less traveled, with fewer discernible paths and thicker brambles. The wildlife was bolder here, for the people of Kullervo seldom ventured into the forest they believed to be cursed, but Steven encountered no animal that might explain the fear or loss of life associated with it, least of all a giant wolf or winged humanoid with glowing eyes.

Puzzled and concerned, Steven made his way back to the docks. He hadn't realized he'd been hoping that this attack had been the Pirates of Aarbyville until evidence suggested it wasn't. The gangs in Aarbyville were getting out of hand, and had been gathering for some time in apparently strategic positions around the borders of Freedonia and her annexed territories. This was a huge problem that needed to be dealt with, and the last thing Steven needed was some other, unrelated threat.

Returning to the ship, he found that Adora was waiting for him.

"What happened with Sir Stabsalot?" Steven asked.

"I left him vomiting on the beach," Adora replied, "By the way, you owe me fifty simoles."

Surprised, Steven asked, "For what?"

"For taking care of your problem while you went off and did your boring knight thing," Adora replied, adding, "You may as well just pay me, you know I'll take it off you eventually."

As this was entirely true, Steven simply handed over the money she'd asked for, despite the fact that he hadn't actually asked for her help, nor had any price for that help been discussed, much less agreed upon. It just seemed easier than arguing, and better for what remained of his dignity than being stolen from later. Besides, he was afraid Adora might collect interest while she was at it.

They returned to Freedonia without incident, picking up Eloise along the way. Eloise had lost her harpoon, but her boat was loaded down with gobs of whale meat, which she seemed to consider a fair trade. She did not scream at the sea any more on the way back, instead standing at the railing and gazing off into the fog with a look of calm serenity on her face.

Steven concluded that he would never be able to understand women.


	19. Chapter 19

On his way to report his findings (such as they were) to Lord Spaulding, Steven met up with Amie. It was clear that she had been badly hurt somehow, she was limping noticeably and her clothing was ragged and torn. But her expression was one of determined triumph, and she was carrying two large objects that looked a great deal like eggs. Specifically cockatrice eggs, which Steven had seen a few times in the forest and trained his guardsmen to leave very much alone, for he knew that the cockatrice was a very protective parent and exceptionally dangerous animal when provoked.

His first thought was to demand to know what foolishness had caused Amie to take the risk of stealing eggs from under the watchful eyes of a pair of cockatrice (Cockatrices? Cockatri? Cockapodes? Steven supposed he would have to do some more reading. Later).

But instead he asked in mild tone, "Are you alright?"

"Me? I'm fine," Amie replied, but her forced smile was more of a painful grimace.

Steven had been injured enough times to know mauling when he saw it. Even had that not been the case, the presence of the eggs was evidence to suggest what had happened to Amie during he latest foray into Freedonia's forest.

Thus, he persisted, politely, "Are you certain? I could fetch the physician."

"You keep that fool bloodletter away from me!" Amie snarled, her eyes flashing behind the mask, "I can take care of myself. I just need to get these eggs to Everett."

"The blacksmith?" Steven asked, surprised, "Has he come around so soon?"

"It's amazing where some nicely broiled swordfish will get you," Amie replied.

Steven didn't need Amie to elaborate. He knew without being told that she had simply invited herself into Journeyman Smith Everett's home, and begun using his oven, probably ignoring his protests as she did so. Amie had a way of doing that, which at first seemed rude, but she was such a skilled cook that even gruel tasted good when she fixed it, so any offense at her boldness tended to fade rapidly. He knew very well that a good meal did wonders to improve one's mood.

"But you're hurt," Steven pointed out, "Shouldn't you at least go home and rest?"

"I have better things to do than rest," Amie replied with a touch of ferocity, "Besides, I've learned a new spell I'm just dying to try out. I only wish I'd known it sooner, because it's a healing spell. Would've made some things a whole lot easier."

"You're going to test a new spell out on _yourself_?" Steven asked in some disbelief.

"Why not?" Amie asked, "The worst it can do is fail, and anything is better than going to the physician and having her ask me for money again."

Amie and Steven had encountered one another at the top of the hill just outside the throne room. Thinking of the long trip downhill to the square to visit Everett, and -more importantly- the steep uphill climb to return to the bridge leading to the homes of the wizard and physician, and remembering how difficult he had found a similar climb from the training yard to the barracks when he had been wounded, Steven tried a new tactic.

"What if I deliver the eggs for you? Then you could just go home and cast your spell," Steven suggested.

"Haven't you got any work of your own to do?" Amie asked, somewhat impatiently.

"Nothing that can't wait," Steven replied honestly.

Dedication to his work bade Steven report back at once to Lord Spaulding, but there was really no rush to tell the monarch that he still didn't know what had happened, as that wouldn't be news in the strictest since. Thus, Steven's chivalrous heart won out in demanding that he offer aid to a lady in need, particularly one who was injured.

"You're doing that thing again," Amie said after gazing at him in silence for a moment.

"What thing?" Steven inquired.

"The thing where you're kind to me when you don't have any reason to be," Amie replied.

"What if I'm being kind to you because I don't have any reason not to be?"

"We both know it's easier _not_ to be kind," Amie said.

"And we also both know I've never been wise enough to take the easiest path," Steven reminded her, "Now, let me take the eggs; you go home and tend to that wound."

Amie hesitated a moment, though Steven was not sure if it was her pride that was getting in the way, or the fact that she was afraid of letting the precious eggs out of her sight. But finally she handed them over, admonishing him to be careful with them. After assuring her that he would do just that, he bid her a polite farewell and headed down to the home of the blacksmith.

Smith Everett was a relative of Minstrel Rhianwen, evidenced by the deep black of his plentiful hair and mustache, the particular shade of his brown eyes and the color of his skin. Unbidden, Steven's memory recalled Rupert's "poem" describing Rhianwen's beauty. He managed to avoid any outward expression of amusement as he presented the pair of cockatrice eggs to Everett.

"Magus Amie wanted these delivered to you."

"Oh yes!" Everett said brightly, taking the eggs, "These will do very nicely."

Steven, surprised by his enthusiasm, said almost involuntarily, "I was under the impression you weren't very interested in the Philosopher's Stone project."

"Oh no, I'm very excited about it," Everett replied, taking the eggs to his forge, "It's just the wizard I can't stand."

"Amie?" Steven said, "I admit she can be difficult to get along with at times, but her heart's in the right place."

Looking over his shoulder, Everett asked slyly, "Want to bet on that?"

Knowing compulsive gambling when he saw it because he'd seen it enough times in his guards, Steven replied, "No. It would not be fair to place a bet, knowing in advance that I would win."

Turning to his work at the forge, Everett remarked in a falsely casual way, "You seem very fond of this wizard. You wouldn't happen to have... _feelings_ for her, would you?"

With purposeful obtuseness, Steven replied, "I have many feelings for many people. What feelings, specifically, are you referring to?"

Everett laughed, and did not answer, presumably uncomfortable with discussing the topic in anything less than veiled terms. Steven had presumed that would be the case. He considered whatever feelings he did or did not have for Amie (or, indeed, anyone else) were his own business and no one else's. It occurred to him that Amie would probably have handled it by angrily snapping at Everett and telling him to mind his own business. But such was not Steven's way.

"This will take a few hours," Everett told him, then gestured towards the forge with his hammer, "I'm not very good with this thing yet."

Steven took that to mean that Everett didn't want someone peering over his shoulder while he worked, and excused himself by saying he had some errands to run, and that either himself or Amie would be by later to pick up the completed Stone.

Intending to now go and deliver his report to Lord Spaulding, Steven stopped when Adora suddenly hopped into his path in the square.

"Can I help you?" Steven asked with a sigh.

"No, but I can help you," Adora replied, and held up a tattered book, "The journal of that crazy ship captain, sure to shed some light on the mystery," she smiled coyly, "Now, what am I offered in exchange for this extremely valuable artifact?"

* * *

After reaching an agreement for payment with Adora, Steven returned home with the journal, and sat down to read it. The early portions of the journal were difficult to read because Steven didn't know the terminology, and was unfamiliar with a number of the locations mentioned in the journal, so he kept having to check a map. The later portions were more difficult still, and Steven eventually figured out that it was because they didn't make sense. Thoughts and sentences were fragmented, incomplete or in entirely the wrong order. But amidst all the incomprehensible drivel and sailing terms, there was one word Steven did recognize: Animus.

It took him some time to remember, but he figured out that it was a word he'd encountered in a book he'd read. One of the books in Lord Spaulding's parlor that Steven had read. No, not a word. A name. But which book was it from? It hadn't been terribly interesting to him, he remembered that. But... demons. Yes, that was it. It was supposedly a book of fables about demons and devils.

Animus had been the name of a sword. A sword which had allowed a monarch to save his kingdom by defeating all of his enemies with it. And then... well something else had happened, but Steven didn't recall what. Possibly he'd fallen asleep. The book had been pretty dull, and it had been the middle of the night, when he did most of his reading. And it had been awhile ago now.

Still, it couldn't be a coincidence that the people in Kullervo were talking about demons, and that the ship captain's journal referred to Animus, a sword from a book about demons.

Steven decided he should talk to the captain again before he made his report to Lord Spaulding. Partially it was because of a feeling that the captain knew more than he was telling, but mostly it was because Steven was loathe to return to his monarch metaphorically empty-handed.

Not for a moment did it occur to Steven that he might be about to get in over his head. He had faced a powerful evil witch all on his own. He had won at kingball without knowing what he was doing. He had managed to out-drink someone who had Inebriated as part of his title. He had won a tournament duel against all odds. He had jumped headlong into The Pit, and nearly been swallowed by The Beast that lay therein. He had slain Great Bear and Grimbeast alike, and seen off many challengers of Sir Stabsalot's ilk (most of which had skills much more formidable than those of Sir Stabsalot).

A feeble, crazy old captain of a fishing vessel did not seem very dangerous when compared with all of that. Especially since Steven much doubted the man had a magic sword. More likely, the fisherman was a nut who had picked up an old sword in the forest and, remembering a fable read as a child, mistook it for the mythical blade. If he was dangerous at all, it was because he was crazy, and his crew had not expected him to turn on them (if, indeed, he had).

Even if the sword was truly Animus, and the fisherman truly dangerous, risking his life for the safety of Freedonia was Steven's stock and trade. He was undisputed as the greatest fighter in the kingdom and its annexed territories. He had not insignificant experience with magic and mysterious creatures. Only someone like Magus Amie would be more knowledgeable. As Amie was currently badly hurt, Steven could not see asking her for help at this time, and he knew time was never a thing he should waste when it came to potential threats to Freedonia.

This was especially the case in light of the growing hostility of the Aarbyville gangs. Steven didn't have time to mess around with a crazy fisherman and his debatably magic sword. He needed to resolve this quickly and refocus on finding a way to deal with the rising threat from Aarbyville.

As Steven had told Amie, it had never been for him to take the easiest path. If that had been the case, he would never have taken up the mantle of Freedonia's Knight.

The fisherman was being detained down at the docks until this mess was untangled, so Steven was not surprised to find the man standing on the beach. It struck him that most people would be killing time by whittling, or have a pet bird or something. But the fisherman just stood there, swaying gently as if from a breeze. Only there was no breeze.

The fisherman stared at Steven as he approached, his head angled oddly, and a strange smile on his face. Steven didn't trust that look, and approached with caution.

It was well that he did so, for the fisherman suddenly reached under his ragged cloak, as if to grab something. Steven didn't want to fight this man, because he was either just a weak old lunatic, or a wielder of a magical blade of unimaginable power. Either way, Steven wanted to stop this before it started. Thus, he did not stand back for the man to draw his sword as he normally would have, but instead lunged forward to intercept the motion, and took the concealed object from the fisherman.

A wave of dread hit him as he touched the hilt of the hidden sword, followed by a crushing dark force that was both recognizably similar to being Cursed while also being totally alien. Steven felt a flash of doubt, and almost hesitated in disarming his foe. Shaking off the feeling, he withdrew the dark sword from wherever it was the fisherman had been hiding it under the cloak.

At once, Steven felt something he could only describe as utter darkness rushing up through his hands and arms from the blade, which he saw glowed a sickly -yet aberrantly seductive- purple. On its hilt was written a more complete name: Animuslaver.

It was a hideous name, but Steven found he liked the sound of it.

In fact, the blade was all he saw or thought of now. He did not see the fisherman collapse to the ground, nor hear his final uttered word, "Free." He did not see the Grim Reaper rise in a cloud of black smoke to take the soul of the fisherman away. From the moment he took hold of the sword, Steven's world distilled down to one object, a single obsession: The Sword, Animuslaver.

It was his now. With it, he could do anything.

 _Anything_.


	20. Chapter 20

After healing herself, Amie had some time to kill before checking to see if her Philosopher's Stone was ready, and she opted to spend it in collecting from mineral deposits around her tower, with the idea of giving these resources to Smith Everett when she went to pick up the Philosopher's Stone from him. It occurred to her that Captain Steven's habits were rubbing off on her.

She liked being outside and collecting minerals and plants, it was a peaceful way of passing time, and of course you could never have too many resources for potion-making stockpiled. But in former days it would never have occurred to her to collect anything for someone else, least of all something that she might have use for herself someday. The thought that Steven could have such an effect on her actually made Amie smile and almost laugh.

Steven was such a peculiar man, nearly always courteous and thoughtful, seldom complaining and rarely impatient. A bit simple, perhaps, but sweet. Amie knew that he was well-liked in Freedonia, less because of what he'd done in service to the crown, than because of how he treated its people. As knight, he could have gone about dueling whomever he met, shaking them down for money and even killing them if they happened to annoy him. But he didn't. Granted so much power, yet Amie had never once seen Steven abuse it. True, he sometimes was given orders that he found distasteful, yet still he carried them out, but of his own volition it seemed he had never done any harm to anyone.

Even stories of his so-called wild youth were tame compared with stories Amie could have told about her own. And he'd always been gentler than his fellowmen, even before becoming the kingdom's knight, when he'd had nothing to do but hang around the tavern and get very drunk before becoming involved in drunken brawls.

Since Amie had known him, he had been a staunchly upright and well polished example of perfect knighthood. Sometimes annoyingly so, and often not to his benefit. Amie had seen how -but only later understood- during the tournament with Advorton Steven had suffered the dishonest means which he had been ordered to use. It would have been easier for him if he had been in possession of a heart of stone instead of gold. It was then that he had made his first overture of friendship to her, by offering her some of his hard-earned venison.

Ever since then, Steven had always been good to her, as he was good to everyone. Not because he had to be, as if it were a part of his nature, but because... well... that part Amie had never been clear on. She supposed it was because he _wanted_ to be good. Of course, merely wanting a thing was not enough, you also had to work for it. This Steven did, bringing the same absolute dedication to trying to be good as he did to everything else.

Amie wasn't very good at reciprocal gestures, partially because no one had ever been in the habit of being nice to her until now, but she had found one thing she could do. No one else seemed aware of Steven's sleeping troubles. Amie could not help Steven sleep; though she knew of a spell to make someone sleep, she could not figure out how to cast it yet. But, as she was often up at night anyway, she _could_ keep him company. Since she was also a more than slightly skilled cook, she often made dinner for the two of them, using whatever food Steven had put in his larder. As best she could tell, he appreciated it, though maybe he was only being polite (one could never be sure with Steven).

When she had left her home of Effenmont (a territory apparently unknown to anyone in Freedonia), Amie had only been searching for a place to practice and improve her wizardry skills. The fast-growing kingdom of Freedonia had seemed perfectly suited to her needs. Though it irked her that so much of what she did for Freedonia was never made public knowledge, Amie had been able to grow her skills rapidly. Just as she had expected, Freedonia had much need of a wizard, and the regular responsibilities and even mundane tasks gave her plenty of opportunity to gain experience in her craft.

What she had not expected -in fact it had taken her entirely by surprise- was to find a friend. Freedonia felt like home to her now, but she knew it was because of Steven, who had this way of making her feel she was welcome, and that she belonged. Moreover, he seemed to be the only person who had ever seen that she was genuinely sorry about one of her cruel outbursts, the only one who always found it in himself to forgive her and remain her friend, even when she was at her worst. That was something she'd never had before.

Having spent a pleasant couple of hours collecting various types of mineral, Amie decided to head over and see how Everett was progressing with her Stone. She had gathered and put together all of the ingredients but, as she could not use the forge, it fell to the blacksmith to complete the process.

So that the materials she had gathered would not seem like payment, Amie decided to give them to Everett before asking if the Stone was ready. Remembering what Steven had said when he gave her the venison, she decided it was a good line and chose to repeat it with only slight variation when Everett thanked her.

"I was out collecting anyway, and got more than I needed. I figured you could use some," Amie said, managing to bite her tongue on the addition that she at least knew where to find all the good mineral deposits and had seen firsthand that Everett had no such skill.

"Thanks anyway," Everett said, and then gestured to an object perched on his anvil, "There's your Philosopher's Stone. Be careful, it's still a little hot."

After thanking Everett, Amie took the Stone and headed home with it. Now she had the thing, she wasn't quite sure what she was going to do with it. She supposed she would have to use it, just to find out whether or not it worked.

* * *

The Stone sat in the middle of the wooden table in what passed for Amie's kitchen, looking more like an enormous egg that had been slightly burnt than anything with true magical properties. But Amie could feel the magic of it, hitting her like waves of heat. She knew that, like a stew, the Stone would cool quickly. She had to make use of it before then or it would be no good.

But sudden uncertainty held her in its grip. What if the Stone wasn't what she thought it was? What if it didn't work? What if it did something bad? What if all of this had been for nothing? What if the Stone _did_ work? What if she did something wrong with it?

The Philosopher's Stone was an item of incredible power, and Amie knew her life would in some significant way be seriously changed after she used it. The thought scared her a bit. Despite all her complaints, she realized that her life was actually pretty on track, things were good. A serious change could ruin all of that in ways she couldn't hope to anticipate.

She took a deep breath. She'd come this far, there could be no turning back now. Not when she was this close to... _something_. When she'd started after the Stone, all she'd wanted was recognition. She knew she would get that. But now she was faced with the power of the thing, and she knew it was beyond what she'd imagined. This was going to change her life forever.

Stepping back slightly, Amie planted herself squarely, drew out her staff, and tapped the end of it firmly against the floor. Summoning her own magical essence, she reached out with it and touched the Philosopher's Stone, which at once cracked as though it had been struck.

From the cracks in the Stone came a fierce golden light, and a musical, flute-like sound that could not truly be called a voice, though it spoke to her in the language of magic.

It said, _"Choose wisely..."_

Before her mind's eye sprang two images, each startlingly vivid.

One image was of riches, money beyond her wildest dreams. Piles of the stuff, everywhere. It was as if the room she stood in had been half buried in gold simoles. On the floor, on the table, filling up the cauldron in the fireplace, and the wash basin nearby. Stacks upon stacks of coins, more wealth than she could ever hope to earn in her lifetime. With such riches, she could afford to buy literally anything she wanted for the rest of her natural life.

The other image was less certain, but more powerful. In her mind, she saw herself from the outside, but somehow she was a better, more vibrant version of herself. She was stronger somehow, more beautiful. But Amie couldn't put her finger on what was different. She had the same sea green hair, green sapphire eyes and fair skin. She was dressed as she was now, in her green and teal dress and mask with their silver filigree. She was the same, but not the same.

Amie was not sure if it was curiosity or craving for power that made her lean towards the second image. In either case, that was the path she chose, and the Stone instantly responded.

" _Knowledge is power. Know thy weakness, to find thy strength."_

What was that supposed to mean? Amie faltered for a moment. Then she remembered the legends about the Philosopher's Stone had said it could cure _all_ ailments. Surely that had to include the ailments of character: foolishness, gluttony, hubris, cowardliness... and... perhaps even... cruelty?

"Cruelty is a part of who I am," Amie said, though she knew she did not have to speak to the Stone aloud, "How can you possibly take that from me?"

" _Cruelty is not a personality trait; cruelty is a habit. Do not eliminate the habit; change it."_

"That's all?" Amie asked, "You're just going to give me cheap advice? I already have a friend who does that. What do I need you for?"

" _Habits are built over a lifetime. The Power of the Stone allows a lifetime of habit to be built in the mere blink of an eye."_

"What do you mean?" Amie wanted to know.

" _You perceive this conversation as taking time. But, by the next beat of your heart, your wish will have been granted. You will have learned in a blink what would have taken you a lifetime to master, or which you might never have discovered on your own."_

"Which is?"

" _Your anger comes from impatience with what you perceive as the idiocy of others. Once the anger has built up into rage, cruelty is its natural outcome. The solution then, is to replace the impatience with patience, and thus the anger with inner calm. Where there is no anger or rage, there is no need for a cruel outlet."_

"That sounds more like filling a void than replacing something with its opposite," Amie remarked, "Impatience is just a lack of patience."

" _Now... you are learning. As impatience is the absence of patience, so is cruelty the absence of kindness. Weakness is the absence of strength. Find your strength, and you will lose your weakness."_

Amie had of course never seen a fortune cookie before, and so did not understand the sudden vivid image of those words printed in red on a narrow strip of paper that came out of something that crunched and cracked when it was broken open.

As though capable of reading her thoughts (and she supposed it probably was), the Stone responded, saying, _"The ignorant and willful seek to ridicule the truth for its simplicity because they do not understand it. The truth is always simple, and that is what makes it so hard to believe. But if it were complicated, not even the clever would be able to understand it, thus it would have no value. Instead, it is simple enough for any fool, yet one of the most difficult things in the world is to accept it."_


	21. Chapter 21

Even though no actual time had passed, Amie felt an eternity had gone by. The Philosopher's Stone had finished cracking into several inert pieces, the golden light had flooded the room and faded, and now all that was left... was peace.

Amie had not forgotten all of her complaints. Iunia the Physician was still a greedy fool, and Minstrel Rhianwen was still being inexplicably hostile, and Greta the Royal Adviser was still an evil and lustful woman, and Lord Spaulding was still a narrow-minded man who lived in a peculiar little world of his own, and Guard Rupert was... _still_ Guard Rupert... but none of that bothered Amie, because other facts were equally true and far more worthy of consideration.

Freedonia needed a physician quite badly, and Iunia had stepped up to fill that roll out of the goodness of her heart. Rhianwen was a wonderful musician, and normally very friendly and nice to everyone, and she was a doting mother to her child and devoted wife to Rupert as well. Rupert was Steven's friend, and had been since long before Amie had come on the scene, and the reason for that seemed to lie in his sense of humor and fun-loving nature. Lord Spaulding had managed Freedonia's affairs through all sorts of conflicts and difficulties, and he was good to his people, indulging their harmless whims, whether that was to be given some sort of outlandish title, or build a statue in the square (one that never seemed to be made), or if they merely wanted their monarch's blessing before getting married. And Greta... well... she probably had _some_ redeeming quality... surely.

The important thing was that people were just people. They had their good qualities and their bad ones, and for the most part they weren't out to just make life harder or more obnoxious for Amie. They were just living day to day as best they could, and it wasn't her job to judge them or let their foibles ruin her day. It was her job to be the best wizard she could be, the best person she could be, and be patient with everyone she met. If she was patient, she was bound to find that each person had a good side, even those who made the worst first impression. And having patience with people was the first step towards being kind to them. And kindness, she had learned, was the antithesis of cruelty.

Or perhaps it was simply that cruelty was like empty air in a glass, and kindness was water in a full one. In either case, Amie felt free in a way she never had been before. Free of the anger which had held her in its grip for as long as she could remember.

Even her complaint about not being appreciated for her contributions seemed trivial at best. What mattered was what she had done, not who knew she had done it. And anyway, fame would come in its own time. Or perhaps something better than fame. Who knew what lay ahead?

These serene thoughts in mind, Amie decided to take a stroll. Perhaps she would visit the forest. Perhaps just gather some herbs. She didn't really mind where she went, as she felt that she had all the time in the world now.

Almost immediately, her plans were interrupted as she was nearly knocked off the bridge crossing from her plateau to the rest of the kingdom by Rupert, who seemed to be much in a hurry.

"What are you in such a rush for?" Amie asked, "Is Rhianwen in labor?"

"What? No, no, nothing like that," Rupert said hurriedly, "I came here looking for you."

"For me? Why?"

"It's Steven," Rupert answered.

Fear flashed through Amie as she remembered her last conversation with Steven. He'd just returned from Kullervo. He'd seemed alright then. Though it had actually surprised her a little that he hadn't brought the Philosopher's Stone back himself, or at least met her at Everett's shop, it hadn't seemed alarming. What could have happened to him? Then she remembered: The Gangs of Aarbyville. If Steven had met with them on patrol, or they had tried to breach the castle walls...

"What happened? Is he alright?" Amie asked quickly.

"No, he's not," Rupert replied, hesitated, then added, "You'd better come and see for yourself."

Worriedly, Amie followed Rupert. To her surprise, he led the way not to the barracks but to the tavern. It further surprised her that, on entering the tavern, she saw no sign of Steven. Instead, the tavern was filled with Freedonia's guardsmen, most of whom Amie had delivered potions to at one time or another. But the only two she actually knew the names of were Rupert and Rhona, the latter of which stood when Amie entered.

When Rhona moved, Amie took note of the man Rhona had been sitting next to. Amie faintly recognized him as the sergeant-at-arms, but she couldn't remember his name for the life of her. The sergeant had clearly been badly injured, as he was wrapped in bandages. Amie set her teeth to prevent herself from visibly reacting. If the sergeant was badly injured and Steven missing entirely...

"Captain Steven did this," Rupert told Amie quietly.

"What?! Why?" Amie asked, taken completely by surprise by this statement.

"It becomes stranger," said a dark-haired young guard, "After he attacked the Sergeant, I saw him enter the forest. Some time later, he emerged with his sword bloodied. A strange sword. It glowed."

"After which he came to Lord Spaulding," Rhona took up the tale, "And he insisted that the only way to deal with the threat from Aarbyville was to attack them first, when they weren't expecting it. He asked for leave to hire mercenaries for the job, claiming that Freedonia's army could not be mustered in time. My husband believed him and let him go. I only heard about it after the fact, or I could have informed Lord Spaulding that Captain Steven was lying. Freedonia's army is here, and it is ready to fight. Captain Steven made sure of it."

"But whenever we mentioned invasion to him," Rupert continued when Rhona broke off, "Captain Steven always said that was for Lord Spaulding to decide."

"Why wouldn't Lord Spaulding know?" Amie asked, "It was my understanding that Steven reported regularly the status of his guardsmen."

"He does," Rupert said, "But those reports go to Royal Adviser Greta. The only thing we can conclude is that she did not pass the information on to Lord Spaulding, possibly thinking him too busy to be bothered with those details unless he asked her about them."

"Where is Steven now?" Amie asked.

"Gone," Rhona said, "To Aarbyville."

"The thing is," Rupert ventured quietly, "We're not sure it _was_ him."

"He didn't sound like himself," Rhona said.

"And he didn't fight like himself either," the sergeant added.

"And I've never seen him fail to clean his sword immediately after a kill," the guard who'd seen Steven at the forest put in.

"You're the wizard," Rupert reminded her, "We were hoping you could tell us what made Captain Steven act this way. Some kind of... potion or spell, or... something. Surely there's some reason. I know Steven, and this is not like him."

Amie agreed, but she could not imagine what could make Captain Steven behave like some kind of... of... _monster_. But she realized she might know who would know. Adora had gone with Steven on the voyage to Kullervo. And Amie had seen them talking again later. Even if she was innocent, Adora had a way of knowing nearly everything about everyone and everything in Freedonia. If anyone knew what had happened to Steven, it would be Adora.

Anticipating how the conversation with Adora was likely to go, Amie wondered quickly she was likely to lose her new found patience.

* * *

Adora's quarters were opulent, with vibrant tapestries hanging from the walls, thick rugs on the stone floor, a finely constructed wooden desk with ornately carved wooden chair, a beautiful (if slightly intimidating and spiky) fireplace, a bathtub that appeared to be made of porcelain and gold, and a massive, highly decorative four-poster with soft mattress covered by a rich, royal blue quilt filled with eiderdown.

But there was no immediate sign of Adora, which puzzled Amie for a few minutes, until it dawned on her that -outwardly- the tower in which the spy lived looked a lot like the barracks. Steven lived in the lower floor of the barracks, but there was an upper floor. It made sense for there to be a second floor here as well. A little looking around revealed a door concealed behind one of the tapestries, which opened to reveal a staircase which led to the second floor.

Here, Amie found Adora concocting a potion at a station similar to the one Amie had in her tower, only this one looked more expensive. Amie could only assume that Adora had demanded all of this finery in addition to quarters built especially for her before she consented to work for the crown.

"Hey!" Adora exclaimed at her unwonted visitor, "You're not supposed to be up here!"

Amie ignored that. She had always found Adora to be a particularly disagreeable person, one who made an active nuisance of herself whenever she could get away with it. Amie had noticed that Adora was particularly fond of picking on Steven, who behaved as though he was helpless to stop her, even though of course he wasn't.

"I came to ask about the voyage to Kullervo," Amie said with cold deliberation, "In particular, I want to know what happened to Captain Steven, and where he got a glowing sword."

Adora crossed her arms haughtily, "And why should I tell _you_ anything?"

"Because," Amie said slowly, tapping her staff on the floor quietly, "I asked nicely."

" _Please_ , if I gave information to just anybody who happened to ask nicely, what kind of spy would I be?" Adora asked, adding, "And, anyway, what makes you think I know anything?"

"Because a spy _always_ knows something of value," Amie replied calmly, "So I'll ask nicely once more: What happened to Steven?"

"He's a knight," Adora replied, "He's being used for the kingdom's benefit. That's all you need to know."

"No," Amie replied, fire flashing in her eyes as a blue edged white glow manifested at either end of her staff, "That is _not_ all I need to know."

"What... are you doing?" Adora asked, taking a step back.

The same glow as that which came from the staff flared behind Amie's mask, and a stiff, magical wind blew around her as she answered, "Giving you some incentive!"

An instant later, the room was momentarily filled with blinding light. The light condensed into the shape of an arrow, which formed directly in front of Amie. She threw her arms outward in Adora's direction, and the arrow fired. Adora made an attempt to flee, but she failed, and the magic arrow struck her full in the chest.

"Ow!" Adora squealed, snatching ineffectually at the dissipating cloud of magic stuff, "I thought you were learning to be at peace with the world or something!"

"Answer me, Spy!" Amie snarled, for the moment not even wondering how Adora could know what had happened with the Philosopher's Stone, "What have you done to Steven?"

" _I_ haven't done anything," Adora snapped back.

Without hesitation, Amie shot her again.

"Do not test me, Spy! The truth!" she growled, " _Now_!"

"Geez, chill out, Magus," Adora yelped, "I was only doing my job."

"Which was what?" Amie demanded, refraining from striking out again.

"Eliminating the Aarbyville threat," Adora replied, "By any means necessary."

"And what were those means?" Amie asked, her patience reasserting itself now that she was beginning to get information out of the spy.

"I received word from my contacts that the Animuslaver had been discovered in Kullervo," Adora answered, "But before I could arrange to fetch it, one of our fishing vessels brought it here for us. After that, it was only a matter of stealing the fisherman's journal and giving it to our good Knight-Captain to read. The rest fell into place on its own."

"Animuslaver," Amie repeated thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing, "I know that name."

"I should think so," Adora said, "After all, it was a wizard who put the demon in the blade."

Amie had thought she'd known anger before now, but the fury that surged within her as she realized the meaning behind Adora's words was like nothing she'd ever experienced.

"You _knowingly_ let Steven fall under the sway of a demon?!" Amie shouted.

"It wasn't my idea," Adora said defensively, evidently not eager to get shot with another magic arrow, "I only brought in the information, and followed my orders."

"Orders? From whom? Tell me, Spy!" Amie raised her staff menacingly.

Adora raised her hands. Being only an under-spy, Adora could not hope to compete with the power of a Magus, and she knew it full well.

"Royal Adviser Greta," Adora answered quickly, "She said that Lord Spaulding would trust any recommendation the Knight-Captain gave, and that the Knight-Captain wouldn't spring for an invasion on his own. At first I was only supposed to convince him that it was necessary, but when the Animuslaver came into play, my orders changed. I was to see to it that the Demon Sword found its way into the Knight-Captain's hands as quickly as possible. I had to build a little trust in Kullervo before I gave him the journal, but after that, events happened on their own. I had nothing more to do with it, I swear!"

"Well you're _going_ to have more to do with it," Amie snarled, her rage far from spent, "You and I, we're going to find a way to fix what you broke!"

"You want to go up against someone possessed by a demon? Are you completely out of your mind? He'll kill us both if we try to take that sword off him!" Adora all but screamed at her.

"You have no idea what Steven has done for Freedonia," Amie told her angrily.

"I know what he's done for _me_ ," Adora snapped back, " _Nothing_. And I don't see anything in it for me to get him back."

"And that's the only thing that matters to you," Amie realized, her calm restored, "So I'll make this _extremely_ clear," she raised her staff once more.

At her summons, a preternatural darkness slipped into the room from under the door and through the cracks in the walls.

"W-what are you d-doing?" Adora asked shakily.

"Explaining the situation to you, in terms you can understand," Amie replied, as the darkness organized itself around her.

The darkness, gathered like a cloud, flashed with what looked like (but was not) blue lightning. Slowly it changed to a purplish hue, and crept up from the floor, making its way to Amie's hand. Taking the flickering, smoky purple ball, Amie threw it at Adora.

As it traveled, the darkness flashed red, and took the form of skulls and bats, which whirled around Adora's head. Adora screamed in mortal terror.

"I can do much, much _worse_ ," Amie hissed, "And I _will_ , unless you help me save Steven. Do we understand each other?"

Trembling, eyes wide with fright, Adora nodded silently.

"Good, I'm so glad we had this chat," Amie said sweetly, taking a deep, calming breath, relieved that she didn't have to reveal that the only other spell she currently had memorized was actually a healing spell, "Now let's get started, shall we?"


	22. Chapter 22

Once Amie had finally communicated to Adora her feelings on the matter, and convinced the under-spy of her ability to enforce her wishes, Adora revealed that the same message telling her of the Animuslaver had also given her the recipe for a potion that would temporarily restore reason to the demon's host. Adora admitted that it had not been her plan to use it. The potion sounded revolting, as it included such ingredients as fattened leeches, but that was not why Adora hadn't planned on using it.

"Animu Slah'ver, which is the name of the demon, always eventually abandons its host anyway," Adora explained, "Admittedly, the host dies when they're abandoned, but knights are imminently replaceable, unlike spies. I figured to just lie low and stay clear until the whole thing blew over."

Amie felt her anger towards Adora rapidly rising to hatred, but her newly patient view of the world interposed, and gave her insight, revealing that Adora spoke from simple ignorance. Adora didn't really understand the depth of evil found in demons, or the agonies inflicted upon the demon's host. She did not care if Steven died because she did not understand the value of life. To her, he was just another thing in her world, an uninteresting and therefore imminently dispensable thing. It was not from wickedness that her cavalier attitude came from, but from thoughtlessness. Not because she was stupid, but because she was self-centered and vain and lacked any experience to make her question her natural way of being. She lacked empathy because she didn't know what it was.

Not that it improved Amie's opinion of Adora. Such a thoughtless girl in the position of spy was a dangerous and potentially damaging thing. And the things that came out of her mouth were not only uncouth, they were also intensely annoying, at least to Amie.

"And if Steven came back and destroyed Freedonia with that sword?" Amie demanded, trying her hand at making Adora think, "You realize Animuslaver in the hands of an expert swordsman is a little different from Animuslaver in the hands of an old fisherman, don't you?"

The attempt failed utterly as Adora shrugged, "There are other kingdoms."

Amie was rendered speechless and staring at this, but Adora didn't seem to recognize her disgust, much less understand it, as she continued,

"Anyway, I can make the potion, but getting the ingredients would be a lot of work."

Amie glared at her to express he complete lack of sympathy. Frankly she didn't care how much work it was to save Steven, and she cared even less how much effort Adora would have to put it. However much was required, Amie intended to see that Adora did it.

Ignoring the look, Adora continued, "Besides, I can't just pour it on Knight-Boy once its made, I have to convince him to drink it. And while I _am_ quite popular and gorgeous and amazing in every possible way, he doesn't seem to be very fond of me."

"Well, you do keep stealing his stuff," Amie pointed out mildly.

"And you're basically a jerk to everyone, but he likes you," Adora retorted, "The only explanation for that is incredibly low standards."

"At least I've never betrayed him," Amie snapped, her eyes flashing briefly, "Or Freedonia!"

"I didn't betray Freedonia," Adora protested, "I did exactly what the Royal Adviser told me to. That's called serving, not betraying. The Knight-Boy would agree with me."

Amie raised her staff, and it began to glow menacingly.

"Okay, _okay_!" Adora said, raising her hands to show she wasn't interested in seeing any more of what a wizard's wrath might look like, "I'll get the stupid ingredients for the stupid potion. But don't blame me when the stupid knight refuses to drink it."

"It's Steven we have to convince, not Animu," Amie said, lowering her staff, adding with feigned certainty, "He'll drink it. You just get the thing made."

Inwardly, Amie was less sure of herself. Too well did she know Steven's politeness and gentle manner, even with people he did not like. She believed that he was her friend, but what if he had always just been nice to her because that was his way? If it had been mere tolerance and not friendship this entire time, it was unlikely that he would trust her. But she had to try.

Steven absolutely would not trust Adora. Briefly Amie considered Rupert, but just as rapidly she discarded the notion. It was true that Rupert was Steven's friend, but the simple fact of the matter was that, if the potion didn't work or Steven refused to drink it, the encounter might well end with him drawing his sword. Rupert had a family. Amie had less to lose. Besides which, Amie could cast a healing spell on herself. Her spell-casting also allowed her to attack and defend herself from a distance if it came to that, whereas Rupert would be forced to get up close and personal.

Amie had seen both Steven and Rupert fight. If it came to a clash of swords, Rupert would lose. Not only would it be wrong to endanger Rupert's life in such a way, Amie could not imagine what it would do to Steven once he was free. No, better to leave Rupert out of it.

"Fine," Adora was saying in response to what Amie had told her, "But I'm not getting the leeches out of the river and fattening them myself."

"I don't care _where_ you get leeches from," Amie replied, "Just _get_ them."

"Fine," Adora repeated, then added, "But they're going to cost a bit."

"I don't care what they cost," Amie snarled, her eyes flashing dangerously, "Pay it!"

"And what are you going to do in the meantime?" Adora asked.

"I'm going to collect the plant materials, and keep an eye out for the ship's return," Amie replied.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Adora asked, apparently eager to get rid of Amie and realizing there was little chance of it.

Amie looked at her and replied steadily, "Not today. And not any day ahead unless and until Steven is free again," her eyes narrowed to slits as she added, "And neither do _you_ , for that matter."

"I was afraid of that," Adora sighed.

Amie said nothing, simply gazed at her expectantly.

"Alright, alright, I'm going."

Amie watched Adora leave, and then looked out the window to watch as she made her way to the village. In truth, Amie already had the plants needed for the potion. But for some reason she had not wanted to admit what she was actually going to do.

Leaving the spy's quarters and returning to her tower, Amie first prepared some new spells, and then she began to scry. On a personal level, Amie didn't want Adora to know that she had to forget spells in order to memorize new ones, and that a part of that embarrassing process was whacking herself in the head with her staff repeatedly. She also wanted to keep Adora in the dark as to what she could actually do at any given time. But she also just didn't want to share any vision of the future she saw with Adora.

The future was not certain, it was made up only of possibilities, and Amie could not entirely control what future she saw, though she could focus on certain people in the vision, or examine aspects of it. She often viewed the most likely future, or the anyway the one most likely if she did nothing to intervene, as she had when she saw the death of The Pit Beast.

This time, she viewed a future in which she had failed to restore Steven's free will. She was not certain how far in the future she was looking, but she saw a strange knight had taken Steven's place.

A pale figure, with almost white blond hair, a solitary man with little interest in his guardsmen, who had taken the mantel of knight primarily for the adventure and glory it promised. A lesser knight than his predecessor, who relied on the security measures established by Steven to keep the kingdom safe, rather than putting any effort in for himself. She saw this knight sailing, and going off into the forest for long periods in search of excitement, leaving the kingdom without her knight's protection for hours or even days at a time as he pursued his own interests.

Despite this, Freedonia appeared to be continuing on, even thriving as it had before. For some reason, Adora was gone, replaced by a functionally identical spy. Amie smiled bitterly at that. At least Adora overestimated her own importance. That was _some_ consolation.

Lord Spaulding was also gone, though Amie did not see why. She saw that the son had taken on the father's role. It was not clear from the vision why, but it was evident that Jeffrey was not as well-loved as his father, either by the people of Freedonia or those of its annexed territories. She did not see Rhona, but was unconvinced that the wife of Lord Spaulding was dead, merely not in immediate view. Amie didn't much care about Rhona, and so did not look for her.

Rupert and Rhianwen remained, their number of children increased to three, all girls of exceptional beauty, inheriting the best of looks from each parent. Rupert seemed not to have the ear of Freedonia's new knight, and Amie saw a melancholy to him in the future that was not there now.

Jeffrey had kept Greta as Royal Adviser, and Krispin as Build Master. They seemed largely unaffected by the change, continuing to behave as they always had.

In fact, many things about Freedonia seemed utterly unchanged.

And then Amie saw herself. A powerful wizard in her tower. Perhaps the most powerful wizard ever, with staff and home furnishings worthy of her power. But she was almost completely alone.

It didn't seem fair. Steven had done so much to protect Freedonia, to improve her and expand her monarch's power within the realm, often at no small cost to himself. He was the best of Freedonia. More, he brought out the best in all he associated with.

Without Steven, it seemed to Amie that there should be no Freedonia. And yet, from what she could see, the world would go on. Even she herself would go on. The lesser for the loss of the Knight-Captain, but going on nonetheless, perhaps even eventually to forget there had ever been a Steven Westmoreland. It seemed so _wrong_ that such a thing could take place, but Amie had learned not to doubt her visions of the future.

Amie closed her eyes then, and cried for her friend, the Hero of Freedonia.


	23. Chapter 23

When Adora had finished the potion, she found Amie waiting at the top of the cliff-side path leading down to the docks, watching and waiting for the ship to come in, just as she'd said she would be. Adora passed her the potion, and then made a brief attempt to escape.

"I guess that's all you need from me, so if you don't mind, I'll just be-"

"Stay," Amie commanded sharply, rapping the end of her staff on the stone without looking away from the ocean.

With obvious reluctance, but fearfully clear memory of what defiance of Freedonia's wizard had earned her, Adora stopped and stood where she was. Amie did not tell her why Adora needed to remain. In truth, she suspected Adora was bright enough to figure it out for herself, if only she would use her head for thinking for once.

For a long time, they both stood silently watching the water. Finally, the ship appeared on the horizon, though it was almost dark before it finally docked.

"Unless I tell you otherwise," Amie warned quietly, "You are to say nothing, and you are to do nothing. I may need your protection before this is over, but I will not stand for your interference."

If things went badly and Steven chose to attack, Amie would need Adora to buy her precious moments to cast a spell. In essence, Adora was going to be Amie's meat shield if things went blood pear shaped. Amie wasn't happy about it, but she feared the alternative.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Adora muttered impatiently, "Tick off the wizard, get zapped. Let's just get this over with. I've gotta break someone out of the stocks in, like, two hours so Lord Spaulding can arrest him for war crimes. _Again_."

"Your petty acts of crown-approved vandalism can wait," Amie said serenely.

Patiently, Amie watched as Steven disembarked from the ship. At once she could see what others seemed to have found out the hard way. There was a darkness around Steven, not like an actual black cloud over his head, but just as visible as if it were a physical reality. He looked miserable, and terribly lost, like he didn't know what he was doing or why he was doing it, but didn't have the will to stop himself, or even to care one way or the other.

Amie blinked back tears. She had already cried once for him, and that was enough. Now she needed to save him, if it was possible to do so. Her tears would not help him now.

As Steven came up the path towards her, Amie took a deep, steadying breath, and managed to smile, "Hello, Captain Steven. How did the Aarbyville campaign go?"

Steven looked startled to see her, but not suspicious, as he responded almost mechanically, "Well. Aarbyville's forces were divided between here and Tredony, leaving their territory itself virtually unguarded. It was a simple matter to destroy what little opposition existed. Aarbyville is ours now."

"That should do some very interesting things to the Tredony-Aarbyville conflict, don't you think?" Amie inquired, doing her best to feign interest in the subject when she really wanted to ask if Steven had hurt any unarmed persons in Aarbyville.

"Tredony. Aarbyville. What's the difference?" Steven sighed, and then shrugged with apparent indifference, "They both belong to Freedonia now."

Steven looked her in the eyes when he spoke, but Amie did not see the warmth that was usually in his dark eyes. Instead, they were cold, and rimmed with unnatural redness she found difficult to ignore. The soul looking out at her wasn't even human, and just trying to maintain eye contact gave her chills. The voice was Steven's, but the words were not. Yet, somewhere in there, Amie knew Steven was still present. She could feel it, and she knew that the demon would not even have acknowledged her if not for Steven. It was as if Steven could be in control, but he was nearly asleep, and thus easily suppressed by the demon. But still _there_.

If only she could reach him long enough to convince him to drink the potion. But already it was clear she was losing his interest, or the demon's interest anyway. Boredly, he looked away from her, and towards Adora, as if noticing the spy's presence for the first time.

Adora had stood still and silent this entire time, but now she suddenly snapped to life, smiling broadly and fluttering her eyelashes at Steven. The sight of it sickened Amie, though she managed to keep that to herself.

"I'm eager to hear all about your trip," Adora purred with a winsome smile, "I'm sure it was very exciting, full of adventure and-" she faltered a moment but maintained her smile, "-Killing. Lots of killing. Tell me, how many heads did you put on spikes? Six? Seven?"

This wasn't the kind of protection Amie had expected. But Adora felt nothing for Steven's plight, and so did not struggle to find words. Her job was deception, and so she easily feigned attraction and intense interest in the details of Steven's conquest. Besides which, the revolting things that seemed to pop into Adora's head actually seemed to pique the demon's interest.

"There was much killing," Steven said, sounding proud of this, "Many foolish mercenaries were run through by Aarbyville pirates. On our way to Aarbyville, we came upon a vessel and sank her. Her crew drowned while we watched. It was very entertaining."

"Ooh, tell me more!" Adora lilted, her eyes big and bright.

Managing to swallow the bile in the back of her throat, Amie used the time to raise her staff. Light flashed along its length, but Adora kept Steven carefully angled so he did not see, moving so that she blocked his progress up the path as well, to prevent him from leaving while Amie was mid-cast. Irritating and childish as she was, Adora was nonetheless very good at what she did.

Electric sparks flickered up and down the staff. The light and electricity leaped out to either side, forming geometric shapes in the air, shapes which Amie gathered up with her hands, and flung outward towards Steven. Closing her eyes, Amie reached out across the telepathic link she had just created, _"Steven. Hear me."_

At first, she was greeted only be ominous silence and a terrible, menacing blackness. It was as if she had been plunged suddenly underwater, except the water was thick and black like tar, and it was pulling her down, swallowing her up. But Amie sensed she herself was in no danger from it. She could break the connection if she wanted at any time. But somewhere in this thick and stinking ichor was Steven. He wasn't sleeping under the surface.

He was drowning.

" _Steven, if you can hear me,"_ she began, then paused to see if there would be a response, but there wasn't, so she continued, _"I'm going to ask you to do something. If you've ever trusted me at all, I need you to trust me now and do as I ask. Can you do that, Steven?"_

The only answer was silence. But Amie nonetheless felt that, in that silence, she was heard.

* * *

It was like exiting the darkness of The Cave and finding himself out on the sea surrounded by fog. Colors were indistinct, shapes blurred, but at least there was _something_ out there. Something, however dim and unlovely, was more than nothing. Even the smallest flicker of light was better than utter darkness. When he tried to breathe, it felt like his lungs had forgotten how to expand to let in air. His throat ached as if he'd been screaming, though he didn't remember having done so. There was a distant whispery roaring-type sound in his ears, like the rush of blood... but it was not blood.

Slowly his vision cleared, and Steven saw he was standing on the path from the docks, holding an empty bottle of some kind. Adora stood in front of him, looking sort of... afraid. Without really knowing why, he turned his head, and saw Amie was beside him. He didn't remember her being there, yet somehow he'd known she was there. Not guessed, _known_.

It puzzled him. Then again, the more he thought, the more _everything_ puzzled him.

"What... happened?" he asked, feeling shaky, as if he was about to fall apart, and he didn't know why, or what might be the thing that caused him to break like thin glass.

"I just gave you a nice healthy dose of reality in a bottle," Adora replied, but even she could not conceal the strained nature of her smile.

Frowning, he turned to Amie in the hopes of a more comprehensive explanation. But she just looked inexpressibly worried. No, it wasn't that she _looked_ worried, it was that she _felt_ worried.

The realization only served to deepen Steven's confusion. A pain manifested in his chest, but he realized that it wasn't his, and it wasn't physical. It was Amie, and she was hurting inside. She didn't appear to be wounded, yet Steven could not doubt what he knew. She was pained for some reason.

Not understanding, Steven started to ask her what was wrong, but then it hit him. He remembered the sword, and the old fisherman's death, and the voice in his head, the voice of Animus screaming at him. The memories came in a rush after that, each one worse than the last as he watched his descent into darkness through his own eyes. He remembered the blood and the death and -worse- the hunger for more carnage after each act of violence was complete.

 _Now_ he understood why Amie was pained and worried. If their positions had been reversed, Steven knew he would have been terrified. Even as it was, his own actions scared him. He didn't understand what had caused him to behave that way, or why he hadn't tried to stop, why it felt as if he had actually _enjoyed_ what he had been doing, releasing anger and hatred he had not previously known himself to be capable of on anyone and everyone he could find an excuse to. Above all of the other feelings in the memories however, was the feeling of being terribly isolated and alone.

"It's the sword, Knight-Boy," Adora supplied, watching his expression as his bafflement deepened and was joined by a sick, uncomprehending dread of what he'd been, and might yet be again, "You gotta ditch it," she added helpfully.

The sword? Steven turned quizzically to the Animuslaver, lying quietly in its sheath. It looked so peaceful, so pretty. He wanted to draw it and look at it for awhile.

"Steven, no!" apparently the bizarre link between Steven and Amie was a two way street, as she knew his desire almost before he did, "If you draw the sword, you return power to the demon."

"Demon?" Steven inquired slowly, his thoughts feeling clouded and cluttered.

While unasked for memories had come in a tumbling rush, actually reaching for one was like trying to swim through quicksand. It was inexpressibly difficult, as if it took physical exertion to accomplish a task that was clearly a mental one, one that should have taken no effort at all. Still, he pursued the memory, and caught hold of it.

The book he'd read, the one where he'd read the name Animus. The sword claimed by a king, who first saved his kingdom... and then brutally destroyed it, until there was nothing left but the graves. _That_ was what he had failed to remember earlier. Animus had made the king believe himself powerful, and then it had crushed him. Everyone he had ever loved became caught in the crossfire, and the kingdom he'd built had died along with them in the end.

That was the curse of Animuslaver. It was like being asleep and dreaming, not really in control. But when you woke up, your world had been destroyed by your own hand.

"The Animuslaver always abandons its victim in the end," Amie was saying, "But not before destroying them completely. If you don't get rid of the sword, _it_ _will_ _kill_ _you_ , Steven."

Steven understood what she was saying, but... the sword felt _good_ in his hand, he remembered that. There were an exhausting number of enemies out there, and Steven remembered clearly the struggle of trying to think of ways to defeat them, and being repeatedly injured when he wasn't clever or quick enough. And there were just _so many_ out there. So many. The sword made him feel in control, and powerful, able to stand against all enemies.

With some shock, Steven realized that he didn't _want_ to get rid of it, despite what he now knew.

Even though Amie did not say so, did not even seem to want him to know, it occurred to Steven that she'd had a vision of a future. A future where Steven had refused (or else failed) to get rid of Animuslaver. Steven saw the vision now as if through her eyes. He was gone, of course, but if he didn't have to give up the sword, then that didn't seem so bad. He didn't understand why, but death felt preferable to laying down the Animuslaver.

Freedonia existed, albeit now under the rule of Spaulding's son, Jeffrey; that seemed okay. The kingdom had a new knight, a young fellow who looked reasonably capable and bright, Steven felt okay about him too. Adora was gone, but nobody seemed to know where, and no one appeared to miss her, so that probably wasn't so bad. Rupert and Rhianwen were around, with three daughters now: Ruslana, Rihanna and Roxette. Odd name, that last one, but Rhianwen was always being creative like that. In all, the kingdom seemed to be going along fine without him.

But then there was Amie, in her tower. And she was alone.

Always alone, it looked like. Amie had spent so much time pushing people away that no one now dared approach her. It was difficult for Steven to get his head around it, but he realized _he_ was her tie to the people of Freedonia. Without him, she was isolated. Freedonia went on. Everyone went on. Even Amie went on. But she was alone. This was the pain she felt. The pain of losing Steven.

It was surprising and not a little overwhelming to consider that he could be so important to her. But he could not doubt his link to Amie, could not doubt that this was the future she had seen without him in it. Thus he had to accept this vision as fact. Admittedly it was but a brief snapshot. Perhaps a day or a week later, Amie would find a way to make friends. Maybe everything would be alright. But Steven could not take that chance. If his keeping the sword would hurt Amie so badly, then he must get rid of it. And not only get rid of it, but make sure no one else ever fell under its sway again.

The thought brought great pain to him, but Steven knew he had to ignore it.

Animuslaver had to be destroyed.


	24. Chapter 24

Even though Steven said he could handle it himself, both Amie and Adora insisted on accompanying him.

"You didn't hear that freak talking through your mouth," Adora informed him, her gaze flicking briefly to the sheathed Animuslaver. She crossed her arms and added, "I'm not chancing leaving that thing loose in the world because it got the better of you. _Again_."

Steven sensed Amie's irritation towards Adora for her remarks, but he didn't entirely understand it. The remarks did sting, because -annoying as she was- Adora was right. Steven felt the sword's allure, it hung on his belt like an unbearably heavy weight the moment he decided it had to be destroyed, and he could hear that voice in his head, whispering seductively to him. The temptation to simply pretend he threw the sword away and then keep it in secret was powerful. Surely Amie could tell that, with or without a telepathic link. Adora had a point, however much Steven wished she did not.

Of course Steven didn't know the whole truth of what had happened, didn't know he'd been purposely maneuvered into this position. He could tell Amie knew something that she wasn't choosing to share through their peculiar link, but he didn't know what, and he didn't question it. Despite his new understanding of the depth of her feelings for him, she was still entitled to her own thoughts. Though many of them escaped against her will, Steven did not pry at the ones which did not.

Amie had explained that their telepathic link was the result of a spell she had cast. It was how she had managed to reach him and convince him to drink the potion she offered. She had magically strengthened their bond in order to speak with Steven directly. She said that the telepathic link was temporary. She said nothing about the new and deeper feelings of friendship Steven felt, so he wasn't sure if they were permanent or even a natural result of what she'd done for him.

Though she said nothing of it, and didn't let him in on her feelings about it, Steven sensed that potentially exposing herself directly to a demon had been a terrifying prospect. Amie had taken a risk for his sake, without expectation that he would understand or appreciate what she'd done for him.

Steven decided it didn't really matter how she'd done it, he was just glad that she had.

The more time he spent thinking, the more he realized that the sword was evil. It had fallen into his possession, and in a way that made him responsible for what happened to it. Regardless of what happened to him in the end, eventually the sword would find a new victim. It would have them wage war, commit murder and any other bloody and wicked thing it could come up with along the way, until it finally destroyed them. And then the process would begin again.

Perhaps it would not make much difference if Steven were to die or disappear today, but the Animuslaver continuing to exist surely would.

Freedonia might never be touched by it if Steven decided to sail far away with the Animuslaver and never come back. It was a tempting thought. But the reality was that someone had already done that at least once before. The sword had wound up in the forest of Kullervo, unclaimed somehow. Presumably its victim died before it could find another host. Or perhaps they resisted and it simply destroyed them, then waited for some new victim to chance to find it. Steven didn't know how all that worked. The point was, wherever the sword had started, it had come to Freedonia. Aarbyville had already suffered for it. Sooner or later, it would find its way to some other knight, or perhaps a wizard or bard (it didn't seem particular), or even another monarch as it once had. And it would destroy a kingdom just like Freedonia, along with its surrounding territories.

How could Steven consider himself a true knight if he allowed something like that to happen, when he could have done something to prevent it?

It didn't matter that it would likely happen after Steven was gone, when he would no longer be able to care. It didn't matter that it would probably be on some distant shore, and to a country he'd never heard of and whose name he likely could not even pronounce. What mattered was that a terrible evil stalked the world in the form of Animuslaver, and he had a chance to stop it. Because he had the ability to end it, it became his responsibility to do everything in his power to do so.

Yet even in this light of reason, with his right mind back in control, Steven could still feel the Animuslaver. It was calling softly, reminding him of how powerful he'd felt, reminding him of how _good_ it had felt to kill anyone who stood against him. It reminded him of how incredible it had felt to unsheathe it, and also pointed out how miserable he felt now he'd put it away.

And he _did_ feel miserable. He felt weak and dizzy. He felt a tremendous weight of doubt as to whether the place he'd chosen would really destroy the sword. There was a place out in the ocean where the water whirled dangerously, and swallowed everything that blundered into its grip. Steven remembered it from his very first strategy session with Greta. She'd knocked one of his pieces into it and declared it destroyed. He had chosen to take the sword there. Even if it was not destroyed, no one could go to the depths of the ocean to retrieve it. Or so he hoped. But what if he was wrong?

Adora had said she could take it, and deliver it to certain contacts of hers to have it dismantled, but Steven could not bring himself to trust her, despite all she'd done to help him in the last day, and all the annoying but true things she'd said. Besides, as Steven was the one who had picked up the sword, it was his responsibility to see that it caused harm to no one else, not Adora's. You didn't just casually hand off something so dangerous for someone else to deal with.

Now a storm had sprung up, with lightning and thunder and lashing rain and cold and fog. The captain of the ship said that if it got much worse they would have to turn back. Steven suspected the demon itself was responsible for the storm, and that turning back was what it wanted. But the storm was a persuasive argument. If the storm threw them off course and they became lost, they could wind up anywhere, still carrying the demon sword with them. The storm might run them into a shoal, or something worse, and they could go down with all hands, yet the sword survive to be picked up by some other ship's crew. Sailors always had an eye out for derelict vessels. The evil would go on.

The demon sword could sense that Steven's will was weakening by the second, his certainty of what he was doing was faltering, and he was beginning to sink once more into the blackness which had already tried to drown his spirit once. Delay in its destruction would give it time to take over once more, or to transfer to a new host.

Dimly, Steven recalled how weak the fisherman had looked. Was that a last resort? If the sword could not control the host, or if they didn't have the ability to properly unleash its power, did it slowly poison them? Or was that merely a side effect of holding the sword in the first place?

Steven certainly felt sick, and not just because the ship was pitching. Unable to do more, Steven sat, mostly inert, in the most sheltered spot he could find on the deck, clutching the sheathed sword tightly for more reasons than he cared to sort out. He was shivering, but the cold was more inside than out despite the chill of the lashing rain. It felt a little bit like he was dying, and the sword suggested he'd feel much better if he just pulled it out of the sheath. Remembering how he'd felt during the hours he'd spent admiring the sword, Steven knew that it was not lying, and that he _would_ feel better. But would the feeling be real? Did it matter? He was starting to feel so wretched that even the illusion of feeling better whilst knowing the feeling wasn't real was beginning to sound good.

He was absurdly grateful to Amie, for she told the ship's captain in no uncertain terms that they were absolutely _not_ turning around. She said what he could not, which was that they _must_ go on, regardless of how bad the storm got.

It was almost surreal to hear Adora firmly backing the statement, though her tactics seemed suspect, as she accused every member of the crew of being a coward if they were willing to let a little rain spoil their sense of adventure. Cowards, she asserted, did not win fame or gold or glory, and she demanded to know what they were even doing on a ship if not to get some of those things for themselves? Steven didn't approve of her tactics, but shaming the captain and crew into continuing onwards seemed to work. In any case, the ship continued its perilous journey into the ocean swells.

Finally, Amie came and knelt beside him.

"Steven, we're here," she said gently, "It's time."

Slowly, painfully, Steven got to his feet. He stood unsteadily, trying to see through the fog, to be sure they were at the place he'd specified. But he could barely see, even aside from the storm. There was a ringing in his ears, as the demon shrieked at him.

"Help me," he wasn't sure if he said it or thought it, but Amie responded either way.

She took his left arm and put it around her shoulders, then guided him to the railing, so he could look over it into the abyss below. The ship could not stay long near the place where the ocean became an endless swirling mass, fighting against the current. But still, Steven hesitated. Amie did not rush him, but supported him silently, one hand holding his arm so it would not slip from around her shoulders, the other grasping the railing for balance.

Finally, Steven looked at the sheathed sword one last time. With a heave that seemed to take a thousand times more effort than it should have, he threw the sword into the ocean, which at once sucked it down into the depths, out of sight.

For just a split second, Steven felt a searing agony in his chest, and the overwhelming urge to fling himself over the railing after the sword. He actually made the attempt, but Amie tightened her grip on his arm and the railing, anchoring him to the ship. Had he resisted longer, Steven would have dragged them both over the side, and Amie must have known it, but she held onto him anyway.

The moment passed, and Steven felt relief suddenly flood through him. The Animuslaver was gone, and so too was its influence upon him. He felt like himself once more. Around them, the storm suddenly quieted down, the fog dissipated as if it had never been.

Realizing he was still holding onto Amie, he looked down at her. She looked up, and a strangely shy smile crept across her face.

"There you are, Captain Steven. For a moment there, I thought I'd lost you," Amie said, almost too quietly to be heard despite the sudden calm of the sea.

Finding his voice, Steven said, "Thank you, Magus Amie. I owe you my life."

"I had nothing better to do today anyway," Amie replied with a slight laugh.


	25. Chapter 25

The obligatory Annexation Party was well underway.

The Advortonian delegation was entered into their fifth consecutive friendly sparring match with the Freedonian guardsmen. The representatives from Burdley had already passed out on the floor after their collective twenty-seventh pint of ale. The Merchant Princess of Tredony was halfway into her second hour of nonstop dancing while Minstrel Rhianwen played her lute. A couple of guys from Crafthole were taking turns telling dirty jokes and giggling quietly to themselves in the corner farthest from the people from Tredony. Aarbyville's Pirate King, looking extremely sulky, was talking in hushed tones to Royal Adviser Greta, who seemed to think whatever he had to say was very entertaining, because she laughed and then walked off to find Build Master Krispin so she could entrap him into an unwanted public display of affection.

Also covered under the title heading for this party was the discovery of the Philosopher's Stone and how to make it. That the knowledge had been knocked from Amie's head almost immediately upon completion of the object did not seem to in any way dampen any spirits. Everyone was just excited to know that the Philosopher's Stone existed, or had existed, or could exist. They weren't wizards, it didn't make a lot of different to them which tense was used. The people of Freedonia were particularly pleased that it had been _their_ wizard and blacksmith who'd found the key to making it.

Smith Everett had arrived at the party, but almost immediately retreated to the parlor with Krispin, where the two had been playing cards ever since. Nobody offered this information to Greta as she roamed the reception hall in search of her lost love interest.

Adora the under-spy was at the party but briefly, just long enough to pilfer some gold from the Pirate King of Aarbyville before she slipped out. She did not come back, but of course nobody missed her, or if they did they were too polite to say so. It's very rude to announce the arrival and departure of the kingdom's spy, and the king's son Jeffrey had begun telling everyone about proper behavior recently, and threatened to tell his father if he caught anyone being impolite.

The music was briefly interrupted by Bloodletter Iunia, who entered the room, went directly to Rhianwen (who had recently given birth to her second daughter, a dark haired baby she had named Rihanna) and slapped her face. Bizarrely, a look of delight appeared on Rhianwen's face, and she laid aside her lute in favor of a mighty brawl, which she seemed inexplicably thrilled to lose.

There was a further lull as Rhianwen went around the room apologizing to everyone she had provoked recently (including Magus Amie), explaining that a brawl had been _exactly_ what she wanted, but she was done now and wouldn't be mean to them anymore.

To everyone's surprise, Amie led the response, not only accepting the apology and extending her forgiveness, but going on to say that she understood how something could become an obsession. She continued by saying that sometimes people had to do things that seemed cruel or foolhardy to accomplish something great. She concluded by encouraging Rhianwen in her pursuit of bettering her playwright skills through experience. After that, of course everyone else also had to accept Rhianwen's apology, or risk looking like worse people than the notoriously bad tempered wizard.

Amie noted that it felt good not only to forgive, but inspire others to do the same. It didn't even bother her that the reason she was an inspiration now was because of who she'd been not long ago, and who she was still believed by many to be. The way the people of Freedonia viewed her would change in time, if she gave them reason to. She had all the time in the world, she was a wizard.

Conspicuously absent from the scene was Captain Steven Westmoreland. His absence was all the more glaring when Lord Spaulding announced that the Knight of Freedonia was being promoted to the level of Commander for his actions in Aarbyville, and being given an appropriate pay increase. Steven's absence from the party did not in any way stop the congratulations ceremony which followed, where everyone cheered and toasted and then went back to whatever they'd been doing beforehand. Freedonia had dealt with absent heroes before, and they knew how to cope with it.

After the congratulations had died down, Rupert came and found Amie.

Sidling up, he quietly asked her, "Where's Steven?"

"Why are you asking me?" Amie replied, taking a sip of ale and frowning at the fact that it just wasn't the same as cider before she added, "I'm not his keeper."

"No," Rupert conceded before countering, "But you _are_ his best friend."

Amie twitched in surprise and stared at Rupert, "Me? What about you?"

Rupert shook his head, sounding surprisingly sober considering how long the party had been rolling, "I've never understood him like you do. And I've never been as good at looking out for him as you are," Rupert paused thoughtfully, "He ever tell you about the time a witch tried to kill him?"

"He mentioned it briefly once," Amie recalled.

"Well, he tried to warn us," Rupert said, then shook his head, "But nobody listened. None of us heard him ask for help. We never imagined he might need any, even those few of us that believed there was any witch to begin with. But it's different with you. You understand him in ways none of the rest of us ever could," he considered for a moment, "Or at least in ways none of us have ever bothered to."

Amie blinked, remembering the moment on the ship when Steven had asked for help. It had not struck her as terribly significant, but now she wondered if it was. She also wondered if Steven had actually asked for help aloud, or if it had been the telepathic link that allowed her to hear him. How many times since they'd met had he asked for help without actually saying the words? She figured that first request for help during the tournament didn't count, because Lord Spaulding had ordered that.

However many times it had been, Amie knew from experience that often people didn't hear you, even when you screamed. They didn't care, or weren't listening, or didn't understand. Amie knew that because Steven had been the only one who'd ever heard her when she'd apologized after being nasty. And she had often been at her worst with him. Yet still he'd heard her. He'd understood her. He'd been her friend when she didn't deserve it, even though she hadn't realized herself that she'd needed one.

"I don't know how or why," Rupert continued, unaware of the moment of reflection Amie was experiencing, "But you always seem to know what he needs. You always hear him."

"Has he said that?" Amie asked.

Rupert smiled, "You'd be surprised the things he's said about you. All good," he tilted his head slightly and smiled crookedly, self-correcting, "Well, mostly."

Realizing that she knew where Steven was, and why he wasn't here, Amie handed Rupert her glass, "Here. Take care of that for me, will you?"

Rupert was already tossing it back as Amie turned and hurried from the reception hall. _Of course_ Steven wasn't here. The man had been possessed by a demon, but whatever he'd done, or even thought of doing, still haunted him, as if he'd done it all on his own. He felt guilty. And alone. And undeserving. Amie knew the feelings all too well.

Shortly, Amie arrived outside Steven's room. She took a breath, adjusted her mask, and stepped inside without knocking. She found Steven lying on his bed, reading. He looked up in surprise.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't expect company."

Amie smiled and gestured to the door, "You know, you really should remember to lock that thing."

"So I've been told," Steven replied, returning the smile.

But the smile didn't reach his eyes, and Amie knew she'd been right. Steven was in here by himself, throwing his own kind of dismal party. A depressing guilt-ridden party. Back when they'd first met, Steven had come and found Amie when she was having a pity party for herself. This was a different kind of party, but it was just as lonely and unpleasant.

"You know that party is for you too," Amie said.

Steven's smile faded, and he looked down, as if he were pretending to resume reading his book, "What I did in Aarbyville is no cause for celebration."

"Lord Spaulding would use his own execution as an excuse to throw a party," Amie pointed out, "Besides, you have a way of making the best out of the worst."

Steven looked over his book at her, but seemed not to have quite taken her meaning.

"I should know," Amie said, tapping her staff lightly on the floor, "I was one of the worst."

Steven shook his head, laying his book aside and sitting up, "You were never that bad."

"I tried to Curse you."

"And I hired mercenaries to ransack Aarbyville," Steven replied flatly.

The telepathic link was gone, but Amie could read the pain in Steven's eyes. She didn't know exactly what he'd done, or thought about doing, or felt while he was doing it. She didn't care either. She knew it hadn't been him, however much he felt like it had been. But Amie realized that saying so wouldn't make Steven feel any better. Besides, he already knew that in his head. His heart would only accept that truth in time.

Amie smiled gently, "I believe it was you who once told me that we can't change what we've done. That's no longer up to us. And even those of us who look into the future can only see its possibilities, and make guesses about what will cause events to come to pass. All we can really do is choose who we're going to be and what we're going to do right now, today."

Steven was silent, but Amie could see the words have their effect on him as he pondered them. Steven was a thoughtful sort. It might take him awhile, but he'd figure it out. They had time for that. In fact, they had all the time in the world.

Finally, Steven quietly said, "The past has passed. We can only move forward."

He met her gaze then, and she saw the change in his dark eyes. He hadn't stopped feeling guilty, but he'd taken the first step towards understanding and accepting the truth.

"So," Amie said, changing the subject, "You got any of those potatoes left? I've got a couple of fish we could put with them. Some seafood stew would really hit the spot right now, I think."

Surprise and bafflement mingled in Steven's gaze as he looked at her. The puzzlement didn't leave his expression when he smiled again, but this time the smile reached his eyes nonetheless.

Amie smiled back as he said, "Yeah, I think I still have a few potatoes."

Not surprisingly, he did still have a few potatoes left. Working her natural talents, Amie concocted a delicious stew, which they shared at the table Steven had recently purchased. They ate mostly in silence. Nothing needed to be said. At least, not until they were finished.

"Thank you, Magus Amie."

"Any time, Commander Steven."


	26. Epilogue

The kingdom of Freedonia is gone now. In her place stand new kingdoms, built upon the land she tamed for them, by the people who were born (or made) within her borders. In the center of where the castle once stood, there is a giant statue of former Knight-Captain, Lord Spaulding the Illustrious, one to equal every simole of the money he gave to people who desired to build such a statue over the years.

The Pit Beast is gone, and with it many of the wonderful and magical mysteries that made up so much of Freedonia. No one knows where it went, or if it yet lives, only that the hole in which it resided filled with sand and became the first officially refuted suspected landing site for alien space craft.

The war between Tredony and Aarbyville did occur, but historians disagree on the year it began, and the year it ended, and which side won in the end, and what involvement -if any- Freedonia had in its cause or its resolution. Time has buried the evidence like a pirate buries treasure: Under an impermanent landmark marked on a poorly drawn map that gets torn into pieces and retrieved one scrap at a time by a well-trained parrot who would probably rather be talking about yetis.

Commander Steven Westmoreland was not the only knight of Freedonia, he was merely the first of many to follow, the first of which was Captain Rupert Eastlyn the Cheerful of Freedonia. Another in the line of knights was one whom Commander Steven initially took on as a squire, one Sir Stabsalot the Ferocious of Fourinnlandia.

Many mysteries about Freedonia remain. What happened to Royal Adviser Greta, who penned most of the kingdom's historical records in her spare time? Or to Build Master Krispin, whose buildings stood as long as Freedonia, and then crumbled and disappeared without leaving a trace when the kingdom ceased to exist? Did the town criers ever learn to make less noise?

Some mysteries have been solved by dedicated researchers, however. It is known what happened to the enormous whale population that had clogged the ocean just off Freedonia's shore. An entire museum was built around the most famous whale hunter of all, former Merchant Eloise, who found her true calling as a Dread Pirate on the oceans. Her many and varied adventures on the ocean swells were written and sung about by the brilliant playwright, Rhapsodist Rhianwen, whose three daughters, Ruslana, Rihanna and Roxette are all known to have followed in their mother's footsteps as successful musicians of surprisingly diverse types.

But one mystery of Freedonia remains unsolved to this day, and is considered one of the Great Historical Mysteries. The disappearances of Commander Steven, Magus Amie and Spy Adora has puzzled scholars for centuries. What is known is that Spy Adora found some curious metallic object in the forest, from which she said a man emerged, asking what year it was. When she answered, the oddly attired gentleman thanked her and wandered away. She returned to the Commander and told him of the strange thing in the forest, he in turn informed the Magus. The three then went into the forest to examine the mysterious machine. They were never seen again, but it is presumed by many that they entered it and went to wherever the man inside had come from, though where that is no one knows.

Many speculate that what they stepped into was the first Lightning Leap Atomic Molecular Arranger (LLAMA), and were transported instantly to another location far away. But this was hundreds of years before the first known LLAMA was built, so it seems unlikely.

Others say it must have been a time machine, but of course those haven't been invented yet.

Whatever the case, it is known that, despite the disappearance of her knight, wizard and spy, Freedonia continued, and thrived for many years after their abrupt departure.

Hail, hail Freedonia, Land of the Brave and Free.

And hail also to Captain Steven Westmoreland, Hero of Freedonia.

Gone now, but never forgotten.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and goodnight everybody.


End file.
